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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

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Artistic Instinct Chapter Eight

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 5,600

Warnings: Language as always, mentions of drinking, alcohol and drunkenness, mentions of sex OH AND HEARTBREAK

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

The right person, the wrong time.

The right script, the wrong line.

The right poem, the wrong rhyme.

And a piece of you

That was never mine

K Towne Jr.

Chapter 8

The black topped streets of Lewisham radiate the day’s spring sunshine as if intent upon sending the heaven sent warmth back up through Marcus’ soles. The evening’s golden light creates a love song in his heart - one that morphs from the irritation and melancholy of the morning to a happier more uplifting tune.

When did that mood change? Oh yes, that embrace.

Nush.

Marcus hadn’t realised just how low his battery was for touch until you threw your arms around him. How much much he’d needed your body close to his again. Feeling your softness against him, inhaling your intoxicating scent. How he’d longed to kiss your forehead and stroke your hair in that cuddle. Remembering the pain of breaking that contact, plastering on a smile and kicking himself for it.

Constantly having to watch his need for your touch and tempering it within the normal parameters for a working relationship, Marcus has found himself reaching out for you- making excuses to touch you as you passed him, finding imaginary eyelashes on your face. Being around you felt like a breath that he was unable to release, continuously having to dampen down his natural instincts to hold and stroke you.

Kiss you.

Taste you.

Had he been back in the States, he would have said fuck it and asked you out, but that didn’t exactly go well last time. The pain of knowing exactly what he wants and it just being beyond the reach of his fingertips plagues Marcus daily with the dream of coming home to be loved, nurtured and protected and offer it in return. How do you ever allow yourself to become vulnerable to that risk of failure again? One thing he is certain of, is your current ignorance of the true level of his feelings. The kindness you show others - so much care for everyone around you, albeit through a thinly veiled layer of sarcasm and swearing- and the love your friends show for you, demonstrate that you would be nothing but clear if he was to reveal his true feelings.

Squeezing politely through the crowds, between the narrow shack-like stalls of the fairy-light illuminated market, Marcus heads towards the Highline where Andy had told each of you to meet him. Before he could start climbing the staircase up, a large hand grasps his upper arm, another patting the space between his shoulder blades. Marcus spins, slightly surprised by the touch, to be greeted by Andy’s grinning face.

“Looking good, Sir. Bit sharper than at lunch today,” Andy observes, giving Marcus’ leather jacket, Henley and indigo jeans a once over, “and before you complain, I am going to get you a beer because of the day you’ve had. You can do your management thing of buying the first round in a bit, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

With Andy’s face explicitly telling Marcus not to disagree with him, he nods, definitely needing that drink. As they head together towards the bar, they are both absorbed into the throng of a hundred voices holding loud conversations as they compete with the soundtrack from the decks. The crowd is a mixed bag of teenagers, students and families - the children chasing or trying to catch the sparkling spotlights as their parents reminisce over large gin and tonics about lie-ins and late nights not hunched over a crib.

Winding their way through the laughing and dancing bodies, they head in the direction of the alcohol to order some locally brewed ales, bumping into an already buzzing Kiritopa at almost the front of the queue. After a round of handshakes, back slaps and hearty laughs, they edge ever closer to their goal of amber nectar. Before their drinks are poured, Marcus’ eyes scan the market for the rest of the team when they are caught by a flash of colour. Bright turquoise stockings, a mustard corduroy pinafore, red and white striped T-shirt - oh, it isn’t you. Your wildly coloured legs bring so much colour to his day and they are the first thing he checks as he enters the office. Elbow nudges and a pint glass from Andy brings his attention back to the men in front of him for a quick cheers-ing of glasses before heading out of the melée.

The table on the Highline that Andy had reserved was utterly perfect. It afforded a bird’s eye view of the market - a true dream come true for any avid people watchers, whilst also allowing everyone to talk and be heard by each other with its one storey elevation from the thronging crowds. Andy and Kiritopa are animatedly talking with each other lounging amongst the piles of cushions and blankets on the pallet seating, while Marcus leans against the walkway, clutching his beer, staring off into the urban sprawl of concrete car parks and fried chicken restaurants but only looking for one face.

“Hey, what time do you call this...Whoa - Nush, is that makeup? On your face?” Andy’s eyes are utterly saucer-like in this discovery.

“Hush your mouth - she did it to me,” you jab your finger in Dian’s direction, pouting your lips at the indignation and as Andy goes to make another quip, you add- shoving some chips in his mouth, “Dirty masala fries- thought we’d need something to line our tummies this evening. Although equally, they’ll do a wonderful job of keeping some people’s mouths shut!”

“I think I did a great job- she looks stunning!” having put three portions on the table, Dian steps back to admire her handiwork as you pull a duck face pout at her.

She always looks beautiful.

“So, what’s on these fries?” Marcus asks as he desperately tries to avoid the other thoughts running through his head of how that pencil skirt runs along the curve that falls and rises from your waist to your hips beautifully or the horizontal stripes of your t-shirt - an outfit winning in its quest to distract.

As for that goddamn red lipstick…

It would leave a mark all around my-

“Ok, so they’re skinny French fries with spices shaken over them and a dollop of channa masala on top. Oh and that white shit is garlic mayo to dip them in,” you grin broadly as you pass him a portion - the picant vibrancy of the food telling stories of the fresh, bold flavours to come. Always being a believer in food being one of the ways that you can love a person, the mouthful of potatoes, spices and chickpeas envelops Marcus in an all encompassing hug. His belly sings with happiness with each mouthful he consumes, his tongue delightfully tingling from the chilli powder.

“Y’know Nush. Not had one of your curries for a while,” Andy not-so gently hints.

Marcus can’t help but raise his eyebrows, “Nush, you make curries? How many other hidden talents?”

“She also plays the piano and did ballet until she was fifteen,” Andy adds, ducking as you lob a cushion at him - your face reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

“Badly according to my mother,” you say, rolling your eyes as you shove another mouthful in, “Mine aren’t particularly elegant but they are edible. Well they are now anyway - there was one, a keema matar, that I made as a kid where I didn’t realise that chili develops over time. Put in roughly five tablespoons by the end. Could have been used for chemical warfare. Never lived it down but it got me out of cooking for a while.”

The table explodes in uproarious laughter, earning several odd looks from the patrons nearby.

“Well, I’m considering this an invitation to try one of your edible curries as you so eloquently call them,” Kiritopa rubs his belly in anticipation, chuckling at your modesty, “When can we get a date in the book?”

“I love a good curry, so count me in,” Dian chimes in as she pops the chickpeas like sweets into her mouth.

Marcus watches you shift uncomfortably in the spotlight of demands from your co-workers, “If I do this, I need a bigger space to work in as I can’t fit you all in my flat. I’ll need to borrow somewhere that can fit more bums.”

“Could use my apartment to cook and host, if you like?” Marcus proffers, secretly hopeful at trying some of your dishes and perhaps more than a little excited at the thought of spending some one on one time with you.

“Shall we do Sunday evening, if nothing turns up from work?” Kiritopa asks hopefully.

Marcus shrugs by way of confirmation, catching your gaze, drinking in the swirl of colours in your iris, to give you a nod.

With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, you exclaim, “Andy- what the fuck have you started? You’ve all grossly overestimated my skills, and now I am going in search of alcohol to dull my senses and make poor decisions,” you dramatically announce with a theatrical bow, “What can I get everyone?”

Seeing an opportunity open up, Marcus touches your arm as you go to leave, “It’s my round. Help me carry them?”

“Deal,” Marcus feels his heart grow as he sees your smile reach every corner of your face.

Before reaching the top of the stairs, Marcus moves himself around to walk in front of you. His body on an autopilot of manners. On reaching the bottom step, he reaches back - unthinkingly - to grab your hand so as not to lose you amongst the multitude drinking, eating and dancing the night away. The momentary panic that spread at the thought of you rejecting him recedes as your fingers thread between his.

Sending a warm smile at you over his shoulder, you follow in the wake of him quietly.

The people near the bar are flowing like rivers, never stopping for obstacles but twirling, swirling around them nevertheless Marcus guides you through, never letting go. The noise of the chatter and throb of the music surrounds you, not allowing for much verbal communication so he settles for small movements and gestures with the hand that is holding yours. When you finally arrive at the queue by the bar, that is when you can speak a bit more freely albeit in theatrical whispers in each other’s ears.

Marcus watches how the evening breeze kisses you, blowing the strands of your growing-out fringe into your face. How you gaze around and observe people whilst also managing to make him feel like he’s the only person there. The way your eyes crease into crescents when you laugh or smile and how much he wishes he could thank all those people jostling you into him. But like all moments with you, it ends too quickly as soon you’re both heading upriver against the current with your trays of drinks.

“Nush, I’ve always thought it was some kind of miracle that you never spill alcohol,” Andy teases you as you bring the drinks to their owners.

“Hah! I don’t waste the good stuff,” you mutter indignantly, “Although perhaps if we want to protect the office carpets, I should…”

“No,” Marcus mock-sternly interjects at the thought of you being drunk and the chaos that would bring, “No day drinking at work, Nush. I’d prefer the coffee stains.”

Your pout and subsequent upward glance through your eyelashes, makes Marcus turn towards the railings, hiding his thoughts in his beer.

Fuck, Nush.

If you only knew what you do to me.

“Hey Kiri, isn’t it? You playing in the tourney tomorrow?” a deep, cut glass accent calls out, cutting through the crowds surrounding them. Marcus turns towards where the sound is coming from and as he does, he catches a strange look cross your face.

“What the fuck are you doing here and how the fuck do you know Kiritopa?” The tone of your voice, narrowed eyes and furrowed brow makes Marcus turn back towards the group inquisitively.

“Nush! Haven’t seen you in a long time but you are looking amazing,” the voice is attached to a face, the kind that would stop anyone in their tracks, “can barely recognise you with makeup on- you should wear it more often.”

You breathlessly mutter, “Fuck off, that’s never going to happen.”

Good girl. Don’t put up with that BS. You’re better than that.

“I know Seb through rugby training,” then tilting his head quizzically, Kiritopa asks, “How do you know him?”

“Since school isn’t it, so what? Roughly twenty years? Through her brother, Adam as we played rugger together. Although, despite such a long time friendship, you wouldn’t let me in your knickers until more recently,” Seb shoots you a wink from over his beer.

The words burn through Marcus as he considers your connection with this man - his eyes narrowing, lips thinning. Loneliness echoing through his racing heart. He hadn’t considered you seeing anyone else- even for the briefest of dalliances but then not everyone is a serial long term monogamist.

Of course you’d have needs, you are an adult woman.

I just wish you’d explore them with me.

“Every now and then it’s nice to have an orgasm attached to a pulse that isn’t delivered by a battery,” you deliver, utterly deadpan.

Seb pretends to be mortally wounded by your words, playing dead into the chair next to yours, languidly flopping his limbs around. Oh, how Marcus would like to wipe that stupid smug smirk off his face!

For fuck’s sake, Pike. Why didn’t you sit next to her when you had the chance?

White knuckles wrapped around his nearly empty pint glass, Marcus silently watches as Seb desperately works to get your attention whilst you chat animatedly with Dian and Andy while Kiri downs the rest of his beer. He hasn’t noticed the pretty young woman with bouncing corkscrew curls observing him from amongst her friends on the next table along.

“Hey. You look like you could do with a drink, can I get you one?”

Abruptly removed from his poorly concealed glowering, Marcus raises his eyebrows in surprise at this question, pausing for some time before realising that it was aimed at him.

“Oh, look don’t worry. It was just a silly thought...” the beautifully tight curls go to withdraw from view and return to their friends.

“No, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought,” Marcus offers apologetically, “It’s been a day from hell. Let me get you a drink.”

“Wanted to talk to you as I was a bit concerned that you were about to break that glass with how tightly you were gripping it. Glass is an arse to get out of wounds so thought it better to save your hands before you come visit me in A&E,” she gently proposes, “There are better places to spend Friday nights!”

Welcoming the pretty distraction from his destructive thoughts, Marcus’ cheeks dimple as he nods, “I can imagine. Are you a doctor?”

“Yeah, for my sins,” she amusedly huffs, “And on a rare night out, so shall we go get that drink? I’m Kemi, by the way.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Oh, how you long to rip the makeup from your face! As a child, it had been a form of let’s pretend that turned into a mask to hide behind as a young adult as you experimented with finding your true self. Now, that you are established in your womanhood, you feel no need to add layers to your face other than when you are convinced it would be fun by a fast-becoming firm friend.

When Sebastian made a remark about how pretty you looked with the makeup, it made you want to run to the loo right then and there to claw it from your skin.

And what the ever loving fuck is he doing here? Fucking Sebastian of all fucking people, who you accidentally keep finding yourself fucking. You’d just come around to the idea that it might be ok to occasionally go out with people from work but when they meet people from your everyday life - your home life - that isn’t ok. Especially when that person is just a hate fuck. Great in bed but an odious human being as you can’t be that handsome and a decent person, it seems.

Unless you’re Marcus Fucking Pike.

Who is now grabbing a drink with an absolute goddess of a woman.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint why it had hurt so much when he’d walked off with her but there was such an ache deep in your tummy that could not be ignored. Between that and the appearance of fucking Sebastian, you just want to jump on the 178 home and throw on your jammies, curling up under the shit crocheted throw that you’d made during your leave - more holes than stitches. If it wasn’t for Dian, you would already be on your way there, demolishing something unhealthy from UberEats, glugging a wine or two.

Dian seems to pick up on your drop in mood and decides that it’s time for a trip to the tequila bar. With Andy’s husband now joining your rag-tag gang, you agree to chase some bitter hits of alcohol. As you wind your way among the dancers and drinkers, you see him standing by one of the upturned kegs, laughing at something she has said. You catch his eye, plaster on a smile and send him a wink in the hope that your wish for him to have fun seems genuine.

You sign to him whether he wants a drink but a small shake of his head tells you all you need to know before Dian tugs your hand back in the direction of the bar. Standing in front of the bartender, a moment of sadness washes over you until Kiri passes the salt, Seb licks your hand and the rest of the evening finally takes a softer tone after one, two, three.

The tequila in your tummy makes it hard to concentrate on what Dian and Kiri are chatting about while the three of you curl tipsily upon the comfy cushions as a large fluorescent pink, plastic sign declaring TREAT YO’SELF looms large over your heads. Excusing yourself to the loo, you walk past Marcus - steadfastly refusing any eye contact but ensuring he sees you. As you go to repeat the action on the return journey - not entirely sure as to why you feel the need to seek your boss’s attention - a hand goes to balance you as you walk down the final step.

“Whoa - steady, Nush,” you look up to see Marcus’ concerned face looking down at you.

“Hah! I’m ok. You having a good night?” You ask, your eyes searching his, “She’s truly stunning.”

“Yeah, um, were you guys doing shots?” he enquires, brow still furrowed.

“Yup. It's a really good tequila bar upstairs - should have joined us,” you jab him in the chest with an index finger, “So good that the world just looks like an impressionist painting. All swooshy and a little bit blurry.”

You watch Marcus scratching his neck, “Anyway, what on Earth are you doing here with me? Go get her, idiot.”

“Ah, here you are Bad Idea Puppy- thought you’d fallen asleep on the loo. Although that wouldn’t be the first time would it?” Sebastian brays, stepping between you and Marcus as he grabs your hand to lead you onto the dancefloor. Allowing yourself to be led away, you look back over your shoulder at him, mouthing go get her with a wink as if that would soften the pain that had appeared with her.

The music flows through you - the clearest way to communicate you have ever known- your body rolling and swaying with the sensuality of the music. Sebastian moves effortlessly around you thanks to his mother, who having had only sons, deciding that her youngest would get the dance lessons that she’d hoped the daughter she never had, would take. The two of you vent in movements all of what you could never be said between you or to anyone else aloud. As you twist together under the orange stained hazy night sky, you notice the goddess’ hand on Marcus’ face, stroking his cheek. The poisonous ache returns to your tummy and however your face contorts, causes Seb to pull you closer, cradling your head into his neck. You know how the night will end and the loneliness stings.

✪✪✪✪✪

His mouth bone dry, Marcus awakes fully dressed, on top of the comforter, with a cool bed surrounding him. Reaching for his phone, pulling the charging cable from it, he flicks through messages and emails trying to work out what had happened from when Kemi had left him in the bar to rejoin her friends. Her words still ring in his ears - you didn’t come alone tonight - when she had watched his eyes trace your path out of the market. How he’d initially thought about taking her up on her offer to help him forget, wanting to obliterate last night from his memory and lose himself in her eyes and lips. Her final words to him, cutting him to the core- she must be really special and if she is as special as you think she is, you fight for her.

Bloodshot eyes and deep creases stare back at him from the mirror. More grey. They say that age exchanges beauty for wisdom but they are the same mistakes he keeps repeating. A strangled gasp escapes him as he tries to regulate his breathing, lifting his chin trying to fill his lungs with more oxygen. His shoulders are racked by gut-wrenching sobs and like an overwhelmed dam, the tears spill in hot torrents down his cheeks. Marcus slides onto the floor, allowing the grief to pour forth.

His first marriage was too much, too soon, too young. An art historian and an artist in love with creating and observing beauty until the former decided to change tack after being recruited by the FBI. The long hours of training at Quantico, the subsequent hard days and irregular nights as he worked his way through the ranks of the Art Crime department, wrung the patience from his wife. Gradually growing further and further apart until all that was left were two strangers constantly at odds, her cutting comment about how she felt that he gave her only apathy - never coming to her when she needed help or affection. She hated him for the choices he made - feeling that his work was merely interacting with the meaningless. The law enforcer spent more time at work to hide from the inevitable ending until the artist found someone who appreciated her and the beauty she created.

As for Lisbon. Was she really ever his? Wasn’t he really just a footnote in the Patrick Jane story? The whirlwind romance that progressed and extinguished again at such a heart attack inducing pace, emphasised by that stupid-ass move to DC. Although, if it wasn’t for that move, he wouldn’t be here in London now. Oh yeah. That was out of the skillet and into the fire, Pike. Another excellent career move.

So much love to give and nowhere, no one to give it to. The lessons he has learnt and is still learning but oh, just to find that person with whom you can drop that mask and enjoy togetherness, warmth and serenity.

The side of the bath offers a solid cool support to Marcus as he sits there on the herringbone tiled floor, sobbing into his arms. There is only one voice he needs to hear right now. Grabbing a tissue from the side to noisily blow his nose into, he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes before putting his glasses on. Phone in hand, he dials the number he knows better than his own name.

The familiar dial tone is like a lullaby in his ear, “Mamá?... Hey! How are you doing?... I’m sorry Mamá - I forgot about the time zone difference... I’m ok, just missing you… It’s just been a long week and... Yeah, London is awesome and I managed a trip to France this week which was incredible to be back there. So weird having so many different countries within such easy reach…Come visit me soon?... Thank you... I miss you… Te quiero mucho Mamá… I’ll ring you in a couple of days. Hasta luego.”

Hanging up, everything feels a bit more manageable and less painful- I wish I could bottle my Mamá’s voice. Hauling himself off the bathroom floor, he turns on the faucet to splash icy water on his face. Sniffing his t-shirt, realising the shower could wait - perhaps a good run to get the endorphins pumping would be his best move. Or perhaps a text to Nush to check what ingredients he’d need to have in for the curry tomorrow?

Stop it, Pike. You’re just fucking torturing yourself.

Opening a drawer, he pulls out basketball shorts, a clean t-shirt and a pair of sneaker socks to throw on, discarding last night’s clothes in a heap by the washing machine.

AirPods in and classic nineties dance anthems to pace himself to, he gives his quads and hamstrings a quick warm up by the front door before it is time to convert the emotional pain into miles.

One of the many things that Marcus loves about London is the constant greenery with every second corner a park or stretching heathland. Texas is so proud of its big sky country status and yet, there are parts of central London where you could lie down and not see anything but skies around you. It is truly hard not to fall in love with such a beautiful, historical and spacious city.

Pounding the pavements towards the park, his feet hit the concrete slabs softly, sending small shockwaves to his brain. Whilst Marcus knows that the power in his thighs could have him across the park in seconds, he savours each step. The precision in his movements is perfect as he takes lungful after lungful of the sunshine filled air. It feels like part of a meditation - a mindful prayer. Dodging around errant dogs and small, clumsy yet terrifyingly aggressive children on scooters, he winds his way through the avenues of trees until he comes across a small lake.

He pauses the thrumming music in his ears to just soak up the tranquility of the moment as he stretches out his limbs. The lake is the kindest of nature’s mirrors, never truly showing exactly what is above, but converting it to an image so beautifully smudgy. The weeping willow stroking its branches elegantly across the skin of the water, the clouds gliding silently above as a host of waterfowl paddle effortlessly through the cool, clear pool, all become a priceless Monet hanging in The National Gallery – all free for the looking. Sure, it is transient, changing by the day - unlike the fixed in a moment of time pieces by the grumpy old Frenchman - but that's what makes it all the more precious.

There’s a family by the water’s edge. Marcus can’t help but be amused by the toddler’s antics as they threaten to jump in and become irritated that they can’t, especially when they have their wellies on. Can’t fault that logic! The older child is gathering sticks to make a “campfire” with their dad - discarding most of their parent’s choices with withering looks and expressive rolls of the eyes. The dark-haired mom, whilst trying to reason with the toddler, is swaying with some sort of baby carrier tied around her - a tiny one clutched tightly to her chest. The infant is virtually invisible from the passes of material, only two tiny socks and its little woolly hat peeking free. A collie is also darting between and around them, rounding up his flock of sheep, taking his role as protector very seriously.

The scene makes Marcus smile as he stretches out his muscles. Whilst he can’t help but watch and yearn for something similar in his life, the mom looks up and over in his direction,

“Are you going to come over and say hi or just be a park weirdo that lurks in bushes pretending to stretch?” a familiar voice curtly teases.

Nush - what the fuck?

“Your face is a fucking picture! Take a breath - these are three of my five niblings - big one is Sophia, middle one that keeps threatening to swim in the pond is Alexa and this little dot is Oscar. As for that blundering idiot, this is Adam, my oldest brother- their dad,” gesturing towards your brother you giggle, creasing up in laughter at the sheer shock then relief on Marcus’ face, “Ads, this is Marcus, my new boss that I told you about.”

The male version of Nush outstretched his palm, offering a sympathetic look, “Hi Marcus, pleasure to put a face to a name. I’m so sorry that you have to put up with my cowbag-of-a-sister at work.”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at the friendly sniping between brother and sister, reminding him of his own teasing relationship with his sisters back home, “Hey! Your kids are beautiful. Oh, you must be Sebastian’s friend - who we saw at Model Market in Lewisham yesterday, Nush?” he questions.

“As much as Sebastian can have friends… Oh Nush, you didn’t, did you?” Adam’s face scrunches in disgust and judging in the way that only a sibling can do.

“No! Not this time,” Marcus loves the speed and vehemence to which you respond to your brother- and enjoys the sheer relief that is now guiltily coursing through his veins, “To give the man his dues, he won’t ever sleep with me when I’ve had too much to drink. Not that I was going to and not that it is any of your fucking business in the first place.” You add jabbing your brother in the softness of his tummy with every word you say.

“Nush, I was gonna text you this morning about tomorrow, if you’re still on to make the curries?” Marcus gently questions, willing you to agree.

“Hah! You’re trusting her to cook?” Adam laughs heartily at the suggestion, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Our mum still won’t let her near the chilli powder now.”

You growl at your brother, “I was a fucking kid at the time! And yes, I am more than happy to come and cook curries- what time suits you for me to come over? They do take a bit of time to make.”

Marcus struggles to hold back a snort of laughter, “Any time is good - and perhaps while they’re simmering, we can have some classic films on in the background?”

“Ah that sounds perfect,” your smile warming every inch of his skin.

“You sound perfect for her,” Marcus catches Adam muttering under his breath, his eyes widening at your brother’s comment.

“Shut your damn cakehole, twatface,” you slap your brother’s arm hard as you grind the words between your teeth, the two of you glaring with a mirror image of your eyebrows raised at each other.

“Um, I’d better continue my run before I cool down too much,” Marcus manages to spit out between the flushes of heat through his skin, “Great to meet you and your family, Adam. Nush, it’s lovely to see you and I’ll catch you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Marcus,” you smile at him before turning back towards your niblings, who are working together to create a den using an old fallen branch.

“I saw you running earlier,” Adam adds, “You’ve got a really good gait - as a physio, it’s great to see someone not destroying their joints. Do you do anything to support your running through cross training?”

“Uh no, but that’s a good idea as I don’t want any injuries. What would you recommend?” Marcus asks, genuinely intrigued and flattered by your brother’s compliment of his running style.

“Speak to Nush - yoga is perfect for stretching your IT bands, which as a man they’re generally always tight and only get tighter with repetitive movements like running or cycling. She’s the yoga queen and will know of a local teacher who can help you,” Adam grins, nodding towards his sister.

“There’s so much I have yet to learn about her,” Marcus shakes his head as he sorts out his headphones.

“Yeah, good luck with that!” Adam laughs as he pats Marcus on the back, “Anyway, enjoy the rest of your run and hopefully see you again soon.”

As Marcus gradually picks up his pace away from you and your family, his heart that had felt so dark and lonely, now feels light and airy. The release valve in his chest is finally loosened and there is a little bubble of excitement in his belly that he allows to build at the thought of tomorrow. The thought of your presence in his apartment, doing something as domestic as cooking, is truly a salve for his soul.

Perhaps he can just make believe until it becomes a reality.

Tag list of glory: @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @lunaserenade @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

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pikemoreno · 4 years

Text

if you ever wanna be in love

Chapter I: Coffee Cures All Ills

a/n: Here it is folks! The first part of a Marcus fic heavily inspired by the Netflix rom-com Set It Up.

It’s more structurally and conceptually inspired and not an exact scene-for-scene remake because a) I was interested in the idea of this not even really being an AU. This is extremely canon-compliant and you’ll see more of that as we continue on. 😏And b) because I had lots of ideas that spun off from watching Set It Up that I just liked better for the purpose of this fic. So that’s what you can expect. It’s gonna be cheesy and fun and great.

The first couple of chapters are a lot of, well, set up (which has been infuriating). But we’ll get into the meat of it soon. My outline says so.

As a side note, a lot of the gifs I’m going to be using are from the movie, but these are not my face claims for any of the characters. I’m using them simply for the ~vibe~ of the chapter. Reader is not a small white girl... Or she might be. She is you. Or whatever OC you’d like her to be. Period.

And that’s it. Let’s go, I guess.

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 2k (probably one of the shortest chapters we’re gonna see out of the 14-ish lolz)

warnings: none, and i don’t expect there to really be any serious ones in upcoming chapters either. this is just fun.

Marcus Pike never wanted to fall in love.

He’d seen what it had done to him in failed relationships including everything up to a failed marriage. Some would argue that it wasn’t love then, that love doesn’t fail, so it couldn’t have been. But he disagreed. He knows it when it hits. It comes on you like lightning, bright and fast. You accept it, letting it run through your veins, and risk suffering a fatal blow to your heart. And it most definitely can fatally fail. It can cause joy and pain in equal measure. He’d already been struck so painfully once, the blow of the electricity going straight to his heart. He was beginning to hope to the high heavens that he wouldn’t be so unlucky as to be struck a second time, just in case it should reach his heart so painfully once more.

Marcus Pike never wanted to fall in love.

He felt that especially strongly as he watched Adrian go through his recent break-up. He felt for his fellow agent, he really did. Adrian was completely convinced Sam was the one, sold to the point of going ring shopping soon. But one brief mention of an engagement sent Sam running for the hills. He’d been moping around the office for a couple of weeks now and, as much as Marcus understood the pain, he was already really looking forward to Adrian’s rebound or some similar distraction. He was needing his friend’s signature fire back right about now, not to mention his focus. His work had gotten sloppy in this mourning period. He was constantly distracted. Marcus was dreading getting him on this case today, but maybe it was just the push he needed. He hoped. He stepped up to Adrian’s desk, watching the glazed over look in his eye.

“Hey, Adrian, do you mind getting a head start on this? I’d really like you to be our head man on--” he slid the file onto his desk, but was cut short by Adrian’s response. A response that had nothing to do with anything Marcus had just said.

“I’m gonna die alone,” he muttered, hands supporting his chin, elbows on his desk. Marcus let out an exasperated sigh that he didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re not gonna die alone,” he played along once again, rubbing his temple.

“Maybe I’ll go be a monk. They never have to worry about this shit.”

“An honorable profession.”

“Yeah.” Adrian blinked out of his dream-like state. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” Marcus nodded rigidly. “Sorry, Pike.” He opened the file, nodding slowly, “Yeah, I’ll get on this.”

“You look exhausted,”

“I am,” he admitted sheepishly.

“I’m making a break room run to get coffee, you want one?”

“Please.” Marcus nodded his understanding and made his way down the hall to the break room. He doubted a case and a coffee could get his friend back on track, but he could hope, right?

***

If you had to listen through one more of Wendy’s mood swings, you might just scream. You love the girl, you really do. She’s your friend and the best boss you could’ve asked for, but Lord Almighty, had she been in rare form. Some days she was perfectly fine, strutting around like she didn’t care that her asshole boyfriend Daniel gave her an ultimatum instead of a ring on their last anniversary. Other days would see her doing a complete 180, shutting herself in her office and weeping into suspect files. Your least favorite days, though, were days where the heartbreak made her angry, where thinking about Daniel saying “It’s me or your job” made her border-line vengeful. But, unfortunately for you and the rest of the team, he wasn’t around to take the beating.

You couldn’t say you entirely understood. The short catalog of even shorter flings that you boasted brought largely apathy rather than heartbreak. You couldn’t say you’d ever been in love like Wendy had been. You’d never felt anything quite that strong-- and thank goodness for that. It wasn’t something you particularly looked forward to, at least, not the way you’d seen it lately. It was an uncontrollable force, dangerous and all-consuming. You liked control, liked being in your right mind. If love was to take up it's unfortunate residence, you could only hope it was for someone worth losing your mind over. You hadn’t seen anyone of the sort so far.

Unfortunately, it was already too late for Wendy Harrod. The already intimidating head of the Jewelry & Gem Theft Program in Texas was in rare form. You watched as an HR intern ran from her office in near tears. Poor Randy. Her sharp “come in” in response to your knock on her door made you wince.

“Harrod, I have the results of that house search you requested if you--”

“No, no! Absolutely not, I cannot handle this right now,” she was absolutely raging, leaving you grasping at straws for a response.

“I-- Uh-- Of course. I’ll just leave it right here whenever--” you placed it gently on the end table by the door before being interrupted again.

“Ughhhhh,” she groaned out before flopping into her desk chair, the red leather creaking as she let sit spin her around once, “I’m sorry. I’m being mean.” There was your Wendy.

“Just a little.”

“Sorry, sorry. Bring that here please.”

“What can I do for you? As your friend, I mean. You--” you weighed your words carefully as you hand her the report, “You haven’t quite been yourself since…” you stopped that thought, “Well, lately.” She sighed, shaking her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I need,” she began to skim the report before looking back up with you with a tight lipped smile, “Maybe a coffee? For the more immediate problems anyway.” You laughed.

“Now that I can do. I’m headed there now. Break room coffee ok?”

“That’d be perfect.”

“The usual?”

“The usual.” She yelled after you as you walk down the hall, “You’re an angel!”

She wasn’t gonna be saying that when you came back without coffee.

The sign on the coffee pot reading “out of coffee” was going to seriously ruin your reputation and Wendy’s sensitive mood. You ran through the options: you couldn’t leave to get her a Starbucks; there were some bottled iced coffees in the fridge, but Wendy hated them; you could wait for someone to make a run at lunch and pass on the order, but this was too urgent. Then it hit you. Everyone knew the sixth floor had the better coffee stock anyway. The art freaks loved their fancy stuff. You could always just waltz down a floor and snag two cups from their stash. 5 minutes in and out. No harm done, no questions asked.

Or so you thought.

The sixth floor break room was already occupied when you walked in, finding another agent also brewing a morning cup in a single cup coffee maker.

They really did have everything here: multiple pots, another much fancier looking machine that looked like it might come to life and attack at any moment, recyclable coffee cups, every type of creamer. You name it.

You’d have to sneak over here more often.

You stepped up to the larger coffee pot, rinsing out the carafe before reaching for the container of grounds. Empty.

They had everything here. Except coffee.

Was the whole damn building in a coffee famine? You didn’t have time to check.

“No, no, no, no,” you panicked, frantically searching the cabinet for another container. In your peripheral you could see the other agent look at you like you’d grown two heads. You couldn’t be bothered with his judgement, but you met his eyes to ask, maybe a little too frantically.

“Is that the last of it?” you questioned, eyeing the cup he was brewing.

“Well, yeah, sorry.” It was obvious he meant it, but apologies were not what you were needing right now.

“Shit.”

“Withdrawals?” he laughed a little at your panicked state, but it wasn’t demeaning. He was genuinely amused, and maybe a little concerned, but it made you narrow your eyes at him all the same. You were not in the mood for the mocking, no matter how light-hearted it may be. No matter how much it was softened by the bright smile next to you.

“It’s not for me. It’s for my boss. My very upset boss who needs just one small ounce of joy in her life right now. The kind of joy that can only come from the fueling of her caffeine addiction, so if I could please just have that cup?” You blinked at him innocently, but his dark brown eyes widened as he shook his head

“What? No. I have a friend who needs this. If I don’t bring him this, he won’t be working for the rest of the day.”

“If I don’t bring my boss a cup of coffee in the next two minutes, I will probably not be working again. Ever. I will be dead. Do you want to be complicit in a murder, Agent--” you glanced at his badge, “Pike? Can you really live with that?”

“You’re awfully dramatic aren’t you?”

“I wish it was an exaggeration.” He inspected your badge then too.

“Jewelry and Gem Theft. Floor 7, right? What brings you down here to steal our coffee?” The argument was pointed, but his demeanor was anything but. He was smiling, enjoying this. A little too much, you seethed. You couldn’t stand around arguing all day.

“We’re out too.”

“Try another floor?”

“Time is of the essence here, Art Squad.” There was no room for addressing him politely now, he was riling you up on purpose.

“If you didn’t stand here arguing with me you could’ve tried another floor by now, Jewels.”

He must think he’s so clever.

“Please. This is DEFCON 5.”

“You do know DEFCON 5 is the good one, right?”

“You know what I mean. Please.” He looked at you and then the newly brewed cup, biting the inside of his cheek, thinking through the problem.

“Tell you what. I am willing to split this if you are. Maybe it’s enough to fix both of them.” The crease between his eyebrows was deep as he studied your face, “I know Adrian is too out of it to notice he’s getting jipped, not sure about your boss.” You shrugged.

“Wendy will manage. It’s enough to keep her from throwing something at my head next time I walk in.” He dutifully split the coffee between two of the recyclable travel cups and handed one to you. You took it gratefully.

“I hope this keeps you from… Dying? What’s up with that anyway?” You’re not sure what made this person that was essentially a stranger so interested in your life, but something about it feels nice.

“She had a really bad breakup: anniversary, thought it was going to be a proposal, instead it was him being a piss-baby. She’s a little all over the place right now. They’d been together for years and now there’s just… A hole. She doesn’t know how to deal with it.” Pike’s nod in response is emphatic, giving the cup in his hand a little wave.

“Same with him. Terrible breakup. He didn’t see it coming at all. She broke up with him on a voicemail… Then moved. ‘Course it just put him in this crazy funk, though. Doesn’t wanna work or do much of anything. No violence. Yet. But it’s sad to see.” You winced.

“That’s a rough one. Best of luck with him, Art Squad. Thank you. I owe you one. Seriously.”

“You definitely do, Jewels.” His smile is blindingly bright as he jokes. It makes you smile back.

“See you around.”

series taglist: @whiskeyslasso @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

forever tags: @acomplicatedprofession @hdlynn @makaela27 @space-floozy @catfishingmorales @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @princessbatears @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @findhimfives

#im not in love with this first chapter but hey!#gotta start somewhere #marcus pike x reader #iyewbil #bri writes

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victorsandvanquishers · 3 years

Note

I love your fics! For prompts, maybe 'Bodyguard' with Yuno and Asta? Platonic or romantic, either is fine!!

Hello, Anon! Thank you for requesting this prompt with Yuno and Asta, as I’ve been itching to explore their emotions related to the current events in the manga. Their relationship is platonic in this fic, and there is some slight Asta/Liebe in the background because I enjoy spreading propaganda. It is canon-compliant until the end. Please enjoy this sadfic with gusto! (͡ ͡° ͜ つ ͡͡°)

Asta seeks him out the night before they're due to leave for the invasion. It's a knee-jerk reaction. One minute he's writing a letter to Father Orsi and the family back home while Liebe naps on their bed, and the next moment, he's pulling a blanket over his demon companion before making haste to Yuno's room down the hall. He forgets to knock.

He finds Yuno reading.

There are dark circles underneath his eyes, but they're not from the remnants of late nights and too much stress. These are different. They remind him of Nero's eyes, a mixture of exhaustion and dread, coupled with the usual stress, a sprinkle of agony, and a whole lot of self-loathing.

It's not like he's forgotten about Yuno's pain. He knows it all too well, and yet, he can't help but frown at the the wall between them, the one that's erected itself over the past few days. One one side is Yuno's thirst for vengeance, while the other has Asta striving for vindication. They're only a few months from becoming adults under the eyes of the law, and when that happens, he knows the wall will only stretch taller and wider. Soon they'll be on opposite sides and walking away from each other, because that's what happens when you grow up. It's what happens you grow apart.

But Asta persists.

He doesn't bother asking, just walks over, pulls the sitting man into a hug, and holds on.

Asta will always admit that there isn't much going on in his brain. It's not a self-deprecating thought, merely an observation that also happens to be one of the key factors behind why he does what he does. In the hierarchy of talents, there's mana, then there's scholarly intellect, and finally brute strength. Asta knows that if you have all three, you're as good as king.

Captain Fuegoleon has all three. Yuno has two, and Asta doesn't doubt he'll get his biceps eventually, but Asta only has one.

In a way, there's only ever been three ways to go – to stay home and become a farmer, to leave and become a domestic worker, or the third option, to reject every social norm instilled into his community, and work towards a different, even better future.

Asta chose the third option, and that's why he's holding Yuno now. Because there isn't much in his head, and there's no mana in his core, so his brute strength will have to do. His strength will have to ground Yuno, will have to steady and hold him in place before something bad happens. His strength will have to persist, because this wall can't win. It can't tear them apart like it's torn apart Nacht and his family apart, like it's tore Mr. Finral and his younger brother apart.

Asta won't let it – and he won't let Yuno lose himself in the process.

“You're suffocating me,” Yuno says, voice muffled by Asta's well-built chest.

“Hmph!” He enunciates, and tightens his hold. Yuno gets the hint this time, maneuvers his head so his cheek is flat against Asta's chest, and broods silently as Asta grips him even tighter.

They stay that way for almost five minutes, Yuno brooding against Asta's chest, eyes watching nothing and everything at the same time, while Asta focuses on holding Yuno, focuses on the bright lamp on Yuno's table, the book on magic theory turned to a chapter on manifesting spirits. It's only after Yuno's shoulders slacken and his breathing becomes even that Asta finally starts to loosen his hold. They stay that way for another five minutes, both their breaths even and steady, their spines languid, and their voices silent.

“The Father won't like it if you go in angry,” Asta says after a long while. “You won't be able to think clearly. You'll make mistakes, then get angrier, and make even more mistakes.”

“And since when have you ever listened to the Father?” Yuno whispers, scathingly soft.

Asta doesn't flinch. There's a lot of steel where there should be mana. “Yeah, but you've never disobeyed him.”

“And this isn't just cause?” Yuno challenges.

“It's just for you to wanna rescue your captain... but it's not just for you to go in with hatred in your heart.”

The brute strength Asta knows Yuno has hidden beneath the folds of his uniform finally makes an appearance when Yuno shoves Asta away.

Asta only stumbles back a few steps, but those few steps may as well be a mile. He's in awe, of course, and hurt. He's seen Yuno this angry before, but anger had been mixed with anguish and helplessness that night Asta got the shit kicked out of him by the drunken thief. This time, Yuno's anger bubbles with shame and disgust.

It's written all over his face. The dark circles, the hollow look in his eyes, the disheveled hair and crumpled uniform – it's unlike the Yuno he's grown up with, and yet, it's still him

“Get out,” Yuno tells him, deadly soft.

It's not a request; it's a demand. There's a lot Asta doesn't understand, and he accepts that he'll never understand those things, but this isn't one of them. Asta understands rage. He understands helplessness. He understands what shame can do when unchecked. He's had over a decade to build a backbone and grow thick enough skin to take abuse of any kind with a smile. Because Asta knows – hatred doesn't answer a single question. It fuels nothing but itself. It doesn't resolve conflict, and it doesn't leave a good taste in anyone's mouth.

Asta knows, because he's spent his entire life reminding himself that being angry is the most useless thing this world has to offer.

“I can't send Father Orsi my letter until I know you're OK,” Asta tells him, his face stretching into a big smile. “So I'll send it after we're back – after we've rescued our captains.”

“How can you pretend like it's all gonna be OK when your life is on the line?” Yuno seethes, his voice rising with every word, incredulity etched on his face like a badly drawn picture. “This doesn't end with Spade, Asta. It doesn't end even when we get back! There's still that bloody messenger sitting at our church with our Father and our Sister, and then there's that demon who's sleeping in your bed, and your arm! Have you looked in the fucking mirror, Asta? Do you think this ends just because you say so?”

Yuno's burning with rage, alive with the kind of insidiousness Asta remembers seeing in Mars, in Patolli, in Liebe.

“Yeah,” he tells his friend, his family. “Because I say so.”

Yuno closes his mouth and clenches his teeth, and just then, Belle appears in front of Asta and looks him dead in the eye.

“Leave,” she tells him.

“Just a minute,” Asta says politely, because this is Belle, Yuno's elemental companion, and he'll treat her with the respect she deserves, even if she hates him.

He shifts his head so that he's looking at Yuno again, who's still burning bright with his hatred. His grimoire floats next to him, ready to use, as if Asta's the enemy.

Asta can't but keep smiling, eyes brimming with warmth and love and all the little things that still matter. “I'll be there by your side every step of the way. I won't let you do anything stupid, Yuno; I promise you. I'll bring you home so that I won't even have to send a letter. We can just go straight home after we rescue them. We ca-”

“What you can do is respect that I outrank you, and leave before I make you leave.”

And Yuno means it, because Belle has flown to his side and merged with his body, a sickly shade of green pulsating with raw, unfiltered mana.

“I'll be right beside you,” Asta promises again, before turning around, and exiting the room.

Liebe counts his heartbeats while Asta counts the ceiling beams. It's late, and they should be sleeping, but they're not. Liebe counts his heart beats, while Asta counts the beams, Liebe's head against Asta's chest, Asta's eyes on the dark wood up above, Liebe's arm draped over Asta's torso, while Asta has one hand underneath his head while the other holds Liebe close.

Liebe doesn't say anything, but he listens intently, taps one sharp claw against Asta's shirt with every beat of his heart, while Asta stares up, counts the beams, thinks about Yuno.

“You can't stop him,” Liebe says finally. “He's gonna do what he's gonna do.”

“He's my best friend, and I'll be by his side the entire way. I'm not gonna let him fall.”

Liebe sighs. “It's not about falling; it's about accepting. People change, and sometimes, not in the direction we hope for.”

“But it's not about change,” Asta argues. “It's about our values, what the Father taught us. It's not... worth it. To get caught up in negative feelings – I can't accept it.”

Liebe stiffens but doesn't stop tapping his claw, doesn't stop counting Asta's heartbeats. Instead, he just laughs, dry and hollow. “I'll be there when you do,” he hums, snuggling closer to Asta's chest.

“I won't,” Asta sniffs with a pout before kissing the top of Liebe's head and finally drifting off to sleep.

When they arrive at the Spade monarchs' castle the following morning, it's Asta who turns back on his word, it's Asta who turns the wall into a prison, a prison that cages him and separates him from everyone else, including Yuno. It's Asta who forgets his values, because it's Asta who charges for Dante with his sword brandished, his mouth in a snarl, his hatred pulsating throughout his core as Yami Sukehiro's head rots on a wooden pike at the entrance of the castle.

It's Asta who has to see it to believe it.

Yuno's right, it doesn't end.

And it never will.

#Black Clover #Asta #yuno #asta x liebe #avafanfics

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years

Text

Monument Woman

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter)

Warnings: Violence

A/N: I’m back on my Monument Woman bullshit, but thanks for the Smile love!

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit. I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer , @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale , @ahopelessromanticwritersworld , @lilkermit14 , @tortles [please message me to be added or subtracted]

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

Part 5 – You Can’t Catch a Break, Can You?

Rosemary sat at the kitchen table, reviewing the documents in front of her as Banana curled up awkwardly in her lap. His light snores were the only sounds that could be heard in the bright kitchen besides the shuffling of papers that Fern had brought to her earlier that afternoon.

Robert left everything to Rosemary and now she had a home and business to contend with, knowing that her hands were tied until the probate cleared. Thankfully, Robert had made Fern the executor of his estate, knowing that Rosemary wouldn’t be in the best of places to handle so much information. But there were still papers to initial and checks to sign for the store in the meantime.

Just a few days before, she had walked down Hoffman Street to visit Fern’s office and passed by Jak Spravy Books. She and Robert had closed the store in August as his health worsened. She felt her heart cheer up a little at all the flowers and mementos left by people in the community. Robert had been well loved.

“Ow, Baba!” Rosemary cried out as the dog suddenly shifted, stepping heavily in the crease of her thigh. The dog whined at her sudden movements before jumping down and padding into the living room, on the hunt for a bed that didn’t move. Shaking her head, she went back to the folder, initialing where Fern had marked in the paperwork.

Sighing as she closed the folder, she stretched her arms out and let out a groan when her shoulder popped. Rosemary stood up, letting her lower back crack as well. The late afternoon sun was starting to pour into the kitchen, illuminating a life well lived. She wandered towards the living room herself to watch the dog snooze before she felt the itch to get out of the house.

Robert’s house – no, her house now – was situated a couple blocks from the cemetery where he was buried, and she grabbed her keys off the hook before locking the door as she left. The early October air was brisk as she wrapped her jacket around herself, and it smelled deeply of autumn. She crunched through the leaves on the sidewalk and thought absent mindedly that she should hire the teenager across the street to rake the yard. The walk was a short one and soon she found herself standing in front of his gravestone.

“Hi.” Her voice sounded small. “You’re probably rolling your eyes at me now, not believing I’m back again.”

She chuckled as she sat down, getting comfortable against the stone. She’d been to the cemetery every day since they buried him the week before and she found herself spending at least an hour just talking out loud. Sometimes she cried, but mostly she poured out her heart, telling his stone her fears about the future, her loneliness, her gratitude that he had been so generous.

The sun was low in the sky and the cemetery was shrouded in the hazy purple of dusk when she finally made her way back to the house. She saw cars in the driveway as she came up the street and began to jog, realizing her friends had arrived. None of the women had left her alone since he passed, and Rosemary was grateful to have such loving people in her life.

The night Robert died, she said she was alone now. But now that the shock of death had passed, she realized that was wrong. She wasn’t alone so long as her girls were with her. She bounced up the stairs with a spring that had been missing since Robert told her he was dying and opened the door. The bright light of the kitchen and the warm smells of a hearty dinner enveloped her as tightly as the three pairs of arms did.

No, she thought, I am not alone at all.

-*-

Eventually Rosemary returned to work, warmly welcomed by the rest of the staff – even Bob. Walking into her workstation, she gave Marquetta a long hug, which was heartily returned. Their staff was a small one and Marquetta had become a treasured work friend and the curator worked hard to mentor the young woman.

“I have two tours today, but if you need me, come find me.” Marquetta leaned back and flashed her million-watt grin at Rosemary, who nodded. As she left the room, she squatted down to give Banana a pet on the head and in return she received a happy doggy grin.

“Good luck with the little beesters, M!” Rosemary called down the hall to a ‘yeah yeah.’ She shook her head as she looked around to figure out what was her next project. Noticing the large pile on her previously empty ‘To Be Accessioned’ shelf, she sighed heavily and rolled up her sleeves to get to work.

-*-

Music played quietly in the background as Rosemary continued to work into the late evening. Everyone else had left hours ago, but she had been on such a roll that she couldn’t stop. She hummed along with the song absent-mindedly as she carefully stuffed the sleeve of the fragile dress that had been donated while she was gone. The satin had already frayed at the seam and she held her breath as her arm entered the sleeve.

The breath she let out was tinged with glee as she realized no further damage had been done to the beautiful piece. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she reached over and grabbed another sheet of tissue paper to start the process all over again in the other sleeve. Just as she began to roll up the flimsy paper, Banana suddenly growled. Rosemary startled at the sound.

The dog never growled.

“Baba?” Her voice was cautious. “What is it?”

The dog suddenly barked and before she could react a sharp pain radiated through her skull. The force of the hit knocked her into the work bench before she bounced off the wooden surface to the floor. The ringing in her ears nearly muffled the voices talking above her. Why did everything feel like she was mired in molasses? Shaking her head, Rosemary tried to move to her hands and knees when a steel-toed boot connected with her ribs. The air rushed out of her lungs along with a shattered cry.

Banana barked again, baring his teeth at the intruders, but cowered under the table when another boot swung at him. He whimpered, looking from the two hulking shapes that had entered the room to Rosemary, who squirmed on the floor.

“Where is it?” The voice was distorted from the growing headache and all Rosemary could do was groan. A hand reached out and slapped her. “I asked you, where is it?”

Another voice wormed its way into her addled brain, but for some reason she couldn’t understand it, as if the speaker were talking in a foreign tongue. The nausea that she had been fighting was winning and she could feel the bile rise in her throat. She rolled to her side, hoping to stem the tide, but a hand reached out and yanked her head back. Her groan sounded wet and the voices argued again in that tongue she couldn’t identify.

She heard crashing and something breaking above her head and she tried to protest, to protect the artifacts she had been processing. She reached her hand out and felt a sharp pain as glass sliced her palm. Crying out, the attackers must have heard her and looked down. A heavy boot slammed down onto her arm, pinning her into place.

“It must be in here, she got it before she left. Find it, I want it!” A third voice floated into the mix and Rosemary raised her head slightly, feeling as if what she heard was familiar. The boot on her arm moved and a sharp pain radiated through her skull as she was kicked again. Rolling onto her back, she could feel something wet underneath her and as the darkness enveloped her, she wondered if she would wake up again.

---***---

“Mrs. Morgan, I need for you to please take a deep breath. I need your help.” The young officer had kind eyes as she held onto Helen’s hand. The director was shaking like a leaf, face streaked with tears as she watched them carry Rosemary out of the building.

Nothing was out of place when she entered the museum that morning, noting that Rosemary’s car was in the lot. She shook her head, hoping the curator wasn’t overworking herself to get through the grief of losing Robert. Helen went up the stairs as she usually did, responding to a text message from her son. When she got to the top floor, she smiled as she heard the music and took a left turn towards Rosemary’s workroom.

She isn’t sure how she found the ability to call the police, her shock at the devastating scene in front of her rendering her as still as a statue. At the sight of her, Banana stood up from his spot next to Rosemary and sprinted towards the familiar face. The room looked as if a tornado hit it – items torn or broken, supplies tossed everywhere, an entire shelf knocked over, and one of the cabinets was wrenched open. And in the center of it all was Rosemary, lying on the floor - unconscious or dead, Helen wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Let me try again.” Helen took a deep breath as requested and recounted everything she had witness before the police arrived. Marquetta and Bob had shown up shortly before the police did and they stood off to the side in silence, a mournful looking dog in the young woman’s arms. They watched as the paramedics left the building and Marquetta buried her face into Banana’s warm neck. Bob laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed, tears prickling his eyes at the scene before him.

After promising the police not to touch upstairs until they were done, the three museum employees quietly decided to keep the place close for the day. Not wanting to be alone, they walked down the street to a small diner, one they knew would let Banana in. They weren’t hungry, but they didn’t want to be alone.

Who could have done this and why?

---***---

“Fuck.” The word sounded scratchy and raw as it tumbled from Rosemary’s mouth. Fern and Amy sat up immediately, relieved that she was finally awake. The bright lights seemed to burn her eyes as she slowly opened them but attempts to move her hand seemed difficult as if it weighed a ton. “What the fuck?”

“That would be your first word after being knocked out.” Tina let out a chuckle as she entered the room with three cups of coffee. Amy reached out to touch Rosemary’s forehead while Fern left the room to find a nurse. “How you feeling, Muhammad Ali?”

“You’re not funny, bitch.” Rosemary mumbled and Tina let out a louder laugh.

“I’d say you’re no worse for the wear with that response.” Amy looked over at Tina, who raised her hands. The sound of heavy footsteps came closer and the doctor entered the room with Fern in tow. The two other women raised their eyebrows at the man standing before them, his slight stature not what they were expecting from all the noise they had just heard.

“Ms. Park here says Rosemary’s awake and by the sounds of Ms. Steinberger, already on her way to the Cracker Jack Club.” Dr. Westen smiled broadly, his eyes crinkling in the corner as he watched Rosemary attempt to give a withering glare in his direction.

“You’re not funny, either.”

“I know, but my husband would argue otherwise. Now, on a scale from ‘eh its fine’ to ‘I want to die,’ how bad is your pain right now?” He pulled at her eyelid, shining a light into her eyes. She groaned loudly and tried to swat away his hands.

“Stop, the light makes my head hurt.” He stood up, nodding

“Well that may be, but your eyes are reacting normally, and I’d say your concussion won’t leave much lasting damage. But you’re going to have a gnarly headache for a few days. Can you wiggle your fingers and toes?” She complied and he grinned again. “I want you to stay one more night just for observation, but I say you can go home tomorrow with no problems. I’ll write a script for you for the pain.”

After chatting further with the three other women, the kind doctor took his leave and Rosemary’s friends turned to look directly at her, their eyebrows drawn in frustration. She knew that look and weakly held her hands up.

“I’m just waking up, don’t jump on my ass yet.” She sighed. “What do I have to do to get some water around here?”

-*-

Three days later, Rosemary rode the elevator at work, ever grateful for its existence. The idea of walking up three flights of stairs made her headache seem worse. She closed her eyes and sighed, leaning her head against the wall of the car, trying to ignore Officer Garcia, who was riding up with her to the third floor. She knew they were waiting on her to give her statement, but she feared what she was going to find. The sounds of breaking glass and metal on metal still echoed in her head.

She slowly walked down the hall, a steady hand at her elbow from her new companion and she smiled as she saw Baba waiting for her outside her workshop. The dog ambled up to her, having stayed with Marquetta while Rosemary was in the hospital. She swayed a bit as she bent down to pet him and when she stood up, she felt nauseous at the dizzy sensation swirling in her head.

“I promise we’ll make this quick,” Officer Garcia sighed in concern as he felt Rosemary’s hand grip his hard. “I know that this will be difficult, but the sooner we know what happened and what’s missing, the faster we can solve this crime.”

She nodded and they continued down the hall. She gasped when she saw the room, realizing it looked worse than she feared. Shuffling into the space, she started to tear up at the box of Austrian crystal that had been donated by Mrs. Heard, a beautiful set that was planned for one of their exhibits. With the help of the officer, she bent down, shifting the box to see if anything was salvageable. It was hard to focus and she righted the box, hoping to come back to it later.

When her eyes landed on the workbench and saw the dress she had been processing was still there, she heaved a sigh of relief. She could see small spatters of blood, but she brushed it off, knowing they could remove it carefully. She made a mental note to sit down with Marquetta before she left to list what needed to be done. Until the headaches went away, Rosemary was useless in this space.

Officer Garcia dutifully took notes as the curator slowly walked through the space, noting that nothing seemed to be gone. She’d have to check the records though, she pointed out to him and he nodded in return. As she turned around, her eyes landed on her cabinet and she stood still, ears ringing for a completely different reason.

Someone had ripped open the cabinet, the metal doors hanging off their hinges and rendered into hunks of nothing. Rosemary stumbled forward with a cry, noticing it was completely empty. She began to say ‘no’ over and over until Officer Garcia placed his hand on her shoulder. She turned around; her face twisted in panic.

“It’s gone!”

“What?”

“The Cornucopia!”

#marcus pike #Agent Marcus Pike #marcus pike x reader #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fanfic #the mentalist

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cleocat246 · 4 years

Text

Star Trek

Chapter One

Summary: Hailey Pike, a Starfleet officer and daughter goes through Life and Space while trying to help as many people as she can. With species and events trying to destroy mankind and everything in existence. She has to save the people she loves and also the universe with the help of new friends and crew members.

=====================================

“We are losing her!”

Yelling.

“We can’t do anything!”

No.

“We tried everything we could.”

Please no.

“I’m sorry.”

Why.

“There was too much internal damage and bleeding to the brain, and major body functions started shutting down.”

Please. Why.

Waking up with a gasp and sweat coating my body, I kick the blankets off of me. Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I drop my sweaty forehead into my hands. I was trying to get control over my breathing, but it wasn't working so well.

I started looking around the room to calm myself when I remembered that I was in a hotel room and not my actual one. Breathing a sigh, I look over at the clock next to my bed, seeing it was earlier than I hoped it was.

Rubbing my face one last time, I stand up to make my way over to the bathroom for a cold shower. One by one, I started peeling off my sweat-covered nightwear as I try not to crash into anything on my way.

Turning the water on, I step in and relish the fact that my body was getting clean. As the water soaks my hair and face, I close my eyes, and my mind dulls into fogginess. The moment was calming, but everything starts coming at me, be it images and memories, it stung.

It doesn’t stop.

It won’t stop.

It never does.

Opening my eyes, I grab my body wash and clean myself and then my hair before sighing while stepping out. Wrapping the fluffy towel around my body, I walk to the door and step out into the hotel room. Getting dressed, I run my hands through my hair and behind my pointed ears before putting on my mother's necklace.

Walking to the kitchen area, I yawn and stretch while cracking my back. I start heating up the water for my morning tea to relax before leaning against the counter and sighing.

My father, Christopher Pike, was in the hotel room next to mine, most likely getting more sleep than me. We are currently in Iowa with all the new Starfleet cadets on our way back to San Francisco, where Starfleet academy is.

The dream- well, more nightmare was starting to replay in my head again. The same thing happens every morning, I wake up sweating from a nightmare, take an ice-cold shower, and then tea. Tea and Hot Chocolate seem to be the best route to calming myself in the morning.

Whistling then went off next to me, making me look over and see it was the water. I don't really like using replicators, so I don't use them if I don't have to. It never makes my tea right. Getting the tea in the mug and then the water, I walk over to the big window and open it before sitting on a chair.

Looking out at the sky, blue was starting to come through as the sun rises over the horizon. This is a moment I never want to leave; it's peaceful.

After watching the sunrise and finishing the tea, there was a knock at the door. Putting the cup in the sink, I make my way over and open the door.

The person on the other side smiles and says, good morning.

“Morning, dad.”

“I’m not surprised you’re already up and about.” He states, walking in after I open the door some more, “The same dream?”

“Every night,” I mutter with distaste.

“Well, if you need to talk, I’m here,” Dad says, making me smile and nod, “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be!” I smile, remembering that once we get to the academy, I’ll be helping Spock with working on his Kobayashi Maru no-win scenario test. I have always wanted to work with Spock more, and this is an excellent chance for it.

=============================================

It was later in the evening, and we were at this bar near the Riverside Shipyard. I was still too young to drink, but I can be in the building, just not near the bar. I was currently talking to my father and a couple other commanders when what sounded like a fight broke out in the next room.

My father walks over to the doors, opening them as I follow him to see what was happening. It was a Starfleet cadet holding a man down on a table punching him repeatedly. You can tell my father was not impressed just by the look on his face. He whistles, getting everyone's attention.

The cadet lets go of the guy, making him fall back on the table and wince. The cadet stood frightened, but I focused more on the man with blood smeared on his face. My face scrunches up, looking at him because it just reminds me of the time I got the shit beaten out of me.

“Outside, all of you.” Authority in his tone while speaking made everyone flinch but me, “Now!” That made the cadet answer and scurry away with all the other recruits following while grumbling. “You all right, son?”

“You can whistle really loud, you know that?” The man slurred, but it was still easy to understand him. That comment made my father chuckle lightly, and I giggle. I walk over to make make sure nothing was broken.

“You’re beautiful.” He admires breathly with wide eyes and his mouth open.

“Well, hello to you too!” I giggle while grabbing the back of his head and helping him into a sitting position. His eyes never leave my face as I help him stand. He staggers a little, but I’m able to get him into a chair.

The manager and owner are busy telling everyone to leave, so I ask the bartender if they had a first aid kit. He grabs it for me as I grab a random drink off the counter and head back to the table.

My father was sitting in the chair opposite him and reading his PADD. I set the kit down and hand the drink over to the bloodied guy. He takes it and chugs it before looking at me in the eyes.

The brilliant blue of his eyes stares at me like the ocean on a calm day; they are so beautiful. He smirks lightly but then winces in pain. I open the kit and get to work on stopping his gushing nose.

“Got a name, pretty eyes.” I tease lightly, smiling, putting tissues in his nose. He chuckles but answers, “Jim Kirk.” he sounded nasally.

I stop what I was doing as the name Kirk rang through my head. I've heard that name before from my father and from Starfleet records. I shake my head, getting back to work on Jim's face.

I put the bloody towels and wipes in a pile and get up to get more; I also grab another drink for Jim, so he would sit still. Getting back to the table, I sit on the edge and hand the glass over. Jim and my father started up a conversation after exchanging names.

“You know, I couldn’t believe it when you told my daughter who you are.” My father says, smiling a little.

“She’s your daughter?!” Jim says, pointing up at me, making me laugh, “but who am I, Captain Pike?” Chugging his drink again and wincing.

“Your father’s son.”

Jim looks at the man in front of him before turning and asking the bartender for another drink.

“For my dissertation, I was assigned the U.S.S Kelvin. Something I admired about your dad, he didn’t believe in no-win scenarios.”

“He sure learned his lesson.” Jim state while sniffing and went to touch his nose. I swat his hands away, “Don't touch your face.” I then take out some tissues before lifting his head and checking his nose.

“Well, it depends on how you define winning. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Thanks.” A drink was placed in front of Jim, and he grabs it.

“You know, that instinct to leap without looking that was his nature, too.” My father says, “And in my opinion, it’s something Starfleet’s lost-”

“Why are you talking to me, man?” Jim smiles and chuckles while shaking his head. I grab his chin again and make him look up so I can get the blood right under his nose without hurting him.

“ 'cause I looked up your file while you were drooling on the floor and on my daughter.”

“Dad!”

“Your aptitude tests are off the charts. So what is it?” The Captain asks, “You like being the only genius-level repeat offender in the Midwest?”

“Maybe I love it.” Jim scoffed, looking off to the side

“Seriously doubt that,” I snort, making him look up at me and smirk.

“And why is that?” he raises an eyebrow, “You don’t like cowboys?”

“Oh, trust me, I do. But almost an hour ago, you were getting your face beaten in on this table.” I smirk back at him. His eyes widened slightly, and he looked surprised but just smirked even more. “Now turn your head you have a cut.”

“Jim, so your dad dies. You can settle for a less-than-ordinary life. Or do you feel like you were meant for something better? Something special?”

Jim’s eyebrow twitches while he turns away. Yet again, I grab his chin and gently force him forward.

“Enlist in Starfleet.” My father finally says.

Jim chuckles, “Enlist?” he looks down and snorts while smiling, “You guys must be way down on your recruiting quota for the month-”

“If you’re half the man your father was, Jim, Starfleet could use you.” The older man states, “You can be an officer in four years. You can have your own ship in eight. You understand what the Federation is, don’t you? It’s important. It’s a peacekeeping and humanitarian armada-”

“Are we done?”

“I’m done.” My father says, getting up and sighing, “Riverside Shipyard. Shuttle for new recruits leaves tomorrow, 0800.”

Jim tips his glass up and looks at the table.

“Now, your father was Captain of a starship for 12 minutes. He saved 800 lives, including your mother’s. And yours.” My father smiles, “I dare you to do better.” He moves to leave, but before he does, he pats my shoulder.

“You go along. I’ll make my way soon.” I smile up at my dad while grabbing and squeezing his hand. He smiles back and walks out the door. Jim was still looking at the table, but instead of alcohol, he had a U.S.S Kelvin salt shaker in his hand.

“I think you should do it,” I insist while smiling, “Enlist, I mean.” The blue-eyed male in front of me looked into my eyes, sitting and staring, nothing else. Sighing, he shifts in his seat before touching his nose.

“Stop it!” I snap, grabbing his hand and pulling it away from his face, “Don’t touch, or it’s going to hurt.”

“Ehhh, I’m used to it,” Smirking, he pats my knee before looking away. I bring my hand up under his chin to make him look at me. “Seriously, though, you should enlist. It’ll do you some good. And the name's Hailey.”

“Well, Hailey, what’s that supposed to mean?” He scoffs lightly but doesn’t break eye contact. I bring my hand to his cheek, “You might not get into a lot of fights while in Starfleet. Like my father said, you would do great, you have a high IQ, you need to show it.” I lightly pat his cheek and get up, walking to the door. Opening the door, I turn around and see him gazing at me, “Plus, we would get to see each other more!” Smiling, I turn and leave. I smile to myself, walking through the parking lot, hoping he does choose to join.

‘Don’t get too attached.’

“Jesus!” I say under my breath while stopping, “I forgot about you.”

‘You wound me. But seriously, don’t get attached. Remember what happened last time.’

“Yes, I know,” Sighing, I continue walking. Getting to the end of the almost empty parking lot, I see my father leaning against the hood of the car. He was staring up at the stars but looks over at me when he hears my footsteps.

"Took you long enough."

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I chuckle, “Do you think he’s going to join?”

“I don’t know,” He answers before sighing and looking at the stars one last time. He stands up and heads for the driver's side, "Let’s head out we have a big day tomorrow.”

“That we do!” Smiling, I head to the passenger side and get in.

Big day, indeed.

======================================

I was waiting in front of the shuttle in the shipyard as my father walks up to me, "You still waiting for him?"

"I have faith," I smile, running my hands down my uniform. I was currently wearing my black Starfleet uniform looking all proper. I then felt a hand on my shoulder, "It's time. We need to get on."

Disappointment flashes across my face as I sigh, "Okay," I then turn and head to the shuttle door with my father. But before I got to the steps, I heard an engine that made me turn. It was coming from a motorcycle, and the person on it was Jim, who got off and threw his keys to a construction worker who complimented it. He then walks over to us, "Four years? I'll do it in three." He turns to the Shuttle and starts jogging up the steps.

I grin at my father before turning and skipping up the steps of the shuttle. I caught up to Jim and was about to say something when he rams his head into a metal beam. I try stifling a laugh, but it did work as it made the male turn around and look at me, rubbing his forehead.

"Am I always going to have to fix you up?" I tease while crossing my arms. He chuckles and smirks but turns back around and heads for an open seat. He sits down, and I take the spot on his right. I start buckling up when Jim starts talking to a Cadet about her first name.

"Imma take it, you were hitting on her, and either a friend or an angry boyfriend didn't like it," I tease, staring at the man who just quietly snorts and smiles, "And that's why you got your ass kicked."

He started grinning and was about to make a sarcastic comment but was stopped by yelling. A man came in with a Starfleet worker arguing about having a seat and being a doctor.

"I told you people, I don't need a doctor, damn it, I am a doctor!" The man said while being pulled into the seating area.

"You need to get back to your seat."

"I had one in the bathroom with no windows." They then start walking in front of Jim and me and getting louder.

"Get back to your seat now-"

"I suffer from aviophobia. It means fear of dying in something that flies."

"Sir, for your own safety, sit down, or else I'll make you sit down!"

The man gaped at her before nodding lightly and taking the empty seat on Jim's left, "Fine."

"Thank you." The lady said, irritated, before walking away from us.

"This is Captain Pike. We've been cleared for takeoff." It was then heard over the PA system, which made some people giddy and fidgety. I pull on my belt one last time to make sure everything was secure before sighing. The doors started to close, and the Shuttle turned on.

"I may throw up on you." The guy says, turning to Jim. Jim just looks at him with a bewildered look before saying, "I think these things are pretty safe."

"Don't pander to me, Kid. One tiny crack in the hull, and our blood boils in 13 seconds. A solar flare might crop up, cook us in our seats. And wait till you're sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles." The man just keeps going on with every possibility that could happen to us. He had more, but I start to tune him out before I get onto helping him calm down.

"Well, I hate to break this to you, but Starfleet operates in space." Jim tries to pacify him as the man stops talking about all the different ways we could die in space.

"Yeah, well, I got nowhere else to go. The ex-wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce." The man said, taking out a flask and taking a sip, "All I got left is my bones." He then hands the flask to Jim, who also drinks from it.

"Jim Kirk."

"McCoy. Leonard McCoy."

The Shuttle starts shaking as Jim hands the flask to me, but I refuse, "I'm not old enough, just yet. Hailey Pike, by the way, nice to meetcha!"

"Captain Pikes, daughter?" McCoy asks, taking the flask back.

"Yes, sir, the one and only!" I give him a cheery smile and lean forward to see him better.

"Why aren't you wearing the red uniform like everybody else?" He asks which Jim nods in agreement and looks at me with curiosity.

"Oh, it's because I already graduated, and I'm a Starfleet officer!" I cheer while grinning, "I graduated when I was 16 at the top of my class!"

"Wow." The men both say together, looking at me. "How old are you then?" McCoy was the one to ask.

"20 years of age!"

"Ahhh, that's why you didn't drink anything while you were cleaning me up last night."

"Yep!" The Shuttle starts taking off into the sky, making me lean back against my chair and sigh.

Here we go!

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disasteralex · 6 years

Text

voltron + vine/memes pt 3 (feat. klance)

because we all need some lighthearted fun after this season

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

(spoilers for s6)

during his time on the space whale thing, keith tells krolia about all of lance’s stupid vines to pass the time

krolia, trying her best to understand earth culture, says keith’s father was thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. keith has regrets

keith has a dopey smile on his face the entire time. krolia’s spidey senses are tingling. she knows

lance tries to get keith to name his cosmic space wolf gabe. keith is confused. whenever he asks who gabe is, lance just thumps his own chest, raises his hand up to the sky and says “rip gabe”

lance and pidge try to get the wolf to bork like the “smoke weed every day” vine. shiro is Disappointed but can’t say anything because that would mean admitting he knows the vine and he can’t do that

pidge constantly refers to lance’s fursona and refuses to call him anything but pike for three weeks. the tables have turned

a few days into their journey back home, they land on a planet where the aliens look like dog-people and pidge makes about 10 furry jokes in the span of a minute

lance, finally snapping: “stop kinkshaming me!” pidge, with the most deadpan look on her face: “kinkshaming is my kink”

shiro laughs before he can stop himself and blows his cover

after shiro is brought back, the team decides to catch each other up

when they tell shiro what happened with lotor, everyone goes a quiet because they don’t want to bring it up in front of allura. finally, she takes matters into her own hands and goes “well, as i believe the phrase goes, i yeeted him across the bridge”

lance has never been more proud of someone in his life

pidge, that little shit: “did you mean yoted allura”

lance, at one point: “and we just drop in, like hey there galra, it’s me, ya boi”. hunk, nodding: “we dropped in like whupow and balalala”

keith is intrigued when lance explains buzzfeed unsolved. lance promises to show him as soon as they get back to earth and keith is suddenly a Very Flustered Boy

krolia: “is this boy propositioning my son?” coran: “i don’t think so?”

the garrison keeps them overnight (preventative quarantine), so lance drags keith over to his room to watch unsolved. they end up binging the first two seasons of supernatural. keith absolutely loves it and lance is so happy

the next morning, he makes sure to download every single episode for when they’re in space

when matt meets up with the group and is informed of what happened, he immediately shouts “I WANT TO SEE MY LITTLE BOY”

lance, as keith helps shiro out of the black lion: “HERE HE COMES”

shiro regrets everything, especially once matt breaks out the grandpa jokes

at one point, hunk and pidge go a little too far in teasing lance and he snaps and shouts “I’M SENSITIVE AUBREY” before running away from them (I have a headcanon that whenever lance panics or freaks out he reverts to vines/memes). hunk and pidge immediately realize what they’ve done/been doing and feel horrible

the next day, they get allura to bring lance to them. they’ve got pidge’s laptop already set up and playing music and they’re both wearing sunglasses and shrouded blankets

when lance walks in, they hand him another blanket and pair of sunglasses. lance smiles a little, accepts the unsaid apology and promise, and takes his place in front of them

in preparation for returning to earth, the garrison trio try and teach the others “earth slang”. nobody can tell how much they’re making up

coran then spends the next week asking the paladins what the tea is at breakfast. shiro feels too old for this

hunk, eating earth food for the first time in months: “finally some good fucking food”. lance cries of laughter

once they’re back on earth matt rigs his communicator to play the intro to bill nye the science guy whenever he enters a room. every time the garrison trio will drop everything and compulsively shout “bill bill bill” and he finds it hilarious

one time he catches shiro bopping his head to the music and nearly loses it

pidge discovered halfway to earth that she has a whole folder of memes and vines saved to her laptop and gathers everyone around for Family Meme Time

pidge also has a strangely large collection of bad commercials. coran loves all of them, but his favourite is the shamwow guy

allura and coran are confused by earth’s geography (specifically the fact that north america is broken up into continents, then countries and provinces/states)

pidge, hunk and lance at the exact same time: “AMERICA, EXPLAIN”

keith enlists pidge’s help because he catches on pretty quick to the fact that lance freaks out every time he uses a vine/meme successfully

keith, as they land on a planet full of space deer: “hey lance” “yeah?” “look at all those chickens” lance freezes

pidge, in the background: lance.exe has stopped working

krolia to coran: “is this a weird earth mating ritual?” coran, squinting: “i’m... not sure”

before they all leave for their separate homes on earth, the paladins decide to get mcdonalds together

keith, walking up to the drinks station: “hey lance” lance: “yeah?” keith quickly samples all the drinks, takes a sip and says “fuck you”. lance thinks he’s in love

shiro, shook to the core but also not really surprised: “is he flirting???”

krolia, quietly but fiercely: that’s my boy

everyone is given communicators while they’re apart in case of an “emergency”. lance uses his to send keith memes and stuff from the strange side of youtube. keith mostly uses his to send lance videos of krolia reacting to weird earth shit and to tell shiro that yes, dad, he’s taking care of himself

keith’s favourite video is one lance sent him of him and his older brother recreating "when mama isn’t home”. lance’s is a video of keith laughing as krolia tries to fight a revolving door

before they leave for space, the group makes a trip to costco. coran is enthralled. krolia is fascinated by all the weapons and tries to use one. somehow, they manage to lose keith. by the end of the day, they’ve been banned indefinitely

when they leave earth again, they have approximately 20 multipacks of kd, a shiro-sized freezer of bacon, 12 giant jars of nutella, a cabinet full of costco brand vodka (coran is weirdly obsessed with it), and 60 pounds of ground coffee specifically reserved for shiro

#vld #voltron #klance #voltron spoilers #voltron headcanons #voltron s6 spoilers #s6 spoilers #headcanons #klance headcanons #vld headcanons #voltron vines #voltron memes #voltron shitpost #vld shitpost #what am i even doing anymore #voltron season 6

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chasholidays · 6 years

Photo

All Your Corners Round and Lovely

A Looking For a New Way, Way of Living for @bgonemydear. Merry Christmas, babe <3

With thanks to @windybirb for the lovely Bravenlarke art!

Raven doesn’t think she can be blamed for not understanding the significance of the Toys for Tots thing at Bellamy’s bar. After all, it’s a fairly standard (albeit slightly unexpected, for a bar) holiday event. All sorts of places do charity drives this time of year, and it’s cool that Bellamy is getting in on it.

Then, she sees the two thermometers.

“Why two?” she asks Clarke. Bellamy’s still working on setup, which is convenient, because she and Clarke can check out his ass while he hangs things.

“Why two what?”

“The thermometers. Do they really think they’re going to get so many they break the first one?”

Clarke’s eyes light up like it’s, well, Christmas. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“I guess you weren’t that involved with the bar last year. This is a thing. They have rivals.”

It is, to say the least, not what Raven was expecting. Except this is Bellamy, who could probably develop a rivalry with a rock that looked like it had a face, if he wanted to. “Rivals? What does that even mean?”

“You know the bakery across the street?”

She’s aware of the bakery across the street, which feels like a good enough start. “Yeah.”

“Bellamy and the owner don’t get along. Or, you know. Bellamy’s version of not getting along.”

It’s times like this that Raven simultaneously feels like she’s still behind on this relationship, but also like she's probably doing fine catching up. Because while she might not actually know the specifics of what Clarke is talking about, she does get Bellamy well enough that she knows exactly what Clarke means.

“So, they like each other but he won’t admit it?”

“Non-stop barbs and arguing, yeah. I think Roan was kind of disappointed when the three of us started dating, he definitely thought they were doing a flirty sexual tension thing.”

“That’s the primary way Bellamy relates to people,” Raven points out.

“Yeah, it’s a problem.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Anyway, Roan. He owns the place across the street and started doing a fundraiser, and Bellamy decided if he was doing a fundraiser, they needed to do one here too, because otherwise they weren’t contributing to the overall well-being of the community.”

“So, he wanted his own fundraiser so he could raise more money than Roan does.”

“Or get more donations, yeah. And now it’s become this whole thing.”

“For both of them?” Raven asks. “Because I feel like it would be a way easier sell for the bakery.”

“That just makes it a better competition for Bellamy,” Clarke says, fond. “If we win, then he gets to be really smug. But people don’t usually wander into bars with charity donations, so if he loses he just gets to say he was at a disadvantage.”

“I am at a disadvantage,” Bellamy grumbles, coming over to join them. “Did you miss this last year?”

“Somehow.”

“I’m not doing my job right.”

“He gives some pretty stirring speeches about how important it is to make Christmas good for poor kids like he was,” says Clarke. “But everyone’s always drunk for them, so—“

“They still work.”

“They do,” Clarke agrees, and Raven feels a little lost again, until she adds, “Which is why we need a new plan this year.”

“Yeah?” asks Bellamy. “What kind of new plan?”

She grins at Raven. “Not sure yet. But we’ve got three of us now. I bet we can come up with something.”

If Raven’s honest, she wasn’t expecting this whole poly thing to make it until Christmas, and she was expecting herself to be the person who got left behind. Not out of anything other than simple logic: Bellamy and Clarke are roommates and had clearly been building to a relationship for a while, and she was the newcomer. She’d expected to help bring them together and then be dumped, in a fairly nice way, when the whole thing got to be too complicated. To say nothing of the fact that, no matter how much she liked them both and how good the sex was, it was still kind of a rebound, and rebounds don’t usually work out, in her experience.

But they’re all still together, and she’s still happy, so here they are, defying the odds.

Which means that she’s now involved in all of Bellamy and Clarke’s weird shit, up to and including infiltrating the bakery for reconnaissance. She’s half-expecting Bellamy to put on a disguise, because that’s the kind of hardcore he is, but instead he just opts to sleep in while Raven and Clarke do his dirty work.

Raven nearly stays with him, but she’ll admit to being a little curious. Of course Bellamy takes this whole thing too seriously, he’s Bellamy. But she has trouble believing that this Roan guy is really as invested.

This is, of course, hopelessly naive of her. It's not hard to get people in on stupid rivalries, especially stupid charity rivalries, and the first thing she sees when they go into Icing is a large banner that reads THINK OF THE CHILDREN over a donation box. Unlike the bar, the bakery offers some merchandise that a reasonable person might consider appropriate to purchase for children, and they're arranged around the display, just asking to be bought and contributed.

The obvious and undeniable advantage makes Raven's hackles rise, which means she is, unfortunately, already invested in this. Bellamy and Clarke are fucking contagious, and she's dating them, so it was only a matter of time before she got infected. It was inevitable.

They get in line, and Raven takes the opportunity to scope out the rest of the place. It's a perfectly unobjectionable little shop, kind of minimalist, with a lot of cool colors and sharp angles. It's not exactly welcoming, but it's chic, and the line is full of people who seem to value looking badass while purchasing their muffins.

Not that Raven doesn't look badass at all times, obviously. But she doesn't let her define her as a person.

They buy coffee and pastries from a somewhat surly teenager, and Clarke selects a table where they can watch the charity display. The seats aren't as uncomfortable as they look, although the metal tabletop is chilly. People coming in definitely notice the display, and Raven sees some of them picking up hats and t-shirts with the Icing logo to donate back into the box. It seems more than a little self-serving, selling merchandise for charity and getting free advertising to boot, but the logo is fairly inoffensive and the shirts are cute, so probably the kids will be happy.

Still, Bellamy's got his work cut out for him.

"Does anyone bring actual toys?" she asks Clarke.

"On occasion," says an unfamiliar voice.

Clarke doesn't look fazed, so Raven doesn't let herself react either. The guy is a few years older than Bellamy, with long hair and what comes across as a perpetual smirk, for all Raven's only seen it for a few seconds.

"We do have specific gift requests on the tree," he adds, taking the seat across from her. "It requires a little more effort, but some people appreciate having a project. You must be the new girlfriend."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Raven, this is Roan. Roan, Raven. We both became girlfriends at the same time, so--"

"You must be the contemporaneous girlfriend," he corrects, which is a hell of a pretentious word to break out of nowhere.

"You must be the Christmas rival."

Roan smiles. "If anyone is, it's me. And where is the boyfriend? He didn't want to come and exchange pointed holiday barbs?"

"Sleeping in. He decided we could handle it."

"How lucky for him to have allies. He'll need all the help he can get. If I recall correctly, last year was something of a one-sided fight."

Clarke nearly scowls, but Raven can see her catch herself, and she reaches over to squeeze her hand under the table. She recovers and gives him a sweet smile instead. "We'll try to give you more of a challenge this year."

"I certainly hope so."

They really must be contagious, because as soon as they're outside, Raven turns to Clarke and says, "So, we're going to kick his ass, right?"

Clarke grins, leans up for a quick kiss. "That's the plan, yeah."

"Okay, first off," Raven says, "you need to have some way for people to just fucking give immediately. None of this bring a toy shit."

"We have a jar but that never worked," says Bellamy, with a sigh. He's making dinner, which is one of those things that Raven will admit is so unexpectedly hot that it never even occurred to her to fantasize about it. But there's something about an incredibly attractive guy preparing meals that really works for her. "They just ignored the jar. It's still there, but we always get more physical donations than monetary ones. People like giving real stuff, apparently."

"Do you think it's about the stuff or about the visible impact?" Clarke asks, thoughtful.

"Visible impact?"

"When you buy and give a toy, you know exactly what you're getting and where your money is going. It feels good, buying a kid a present that they want. Charities can almost always use direct monetary gifts better than they can use product because they know how to use the money better than their donors do, but donors like giving stuff."

"Yeah, that's true. I thought about buying stuff to sell in the store, but we have to have the capital to put down first. Pike doesn't pay a ton of attention, but if we don't make the money back on the stuff we put out, then I'm going to have to pay it out of pocket."

If she's honest, Raven often forgets that the bar has an actual owner. Pike owns a bunch of businesses and mostly lets Bellamy do whatever the hell he wants, and everyone assumes that once Bellamy has enough capital built up, he'll make his de facto ownership official. But until then he is, technically, just the manager, not the big boss.

"Maybe you don't need that much product on the floor," says Clarke. "What if you just got--samples."

"Samples?" he asks.

"Ten bucks buys, I don't know, an action figure? Twenty bucks gets--"

"Stuffed animal," Raven supplies.

"Exactly. So we just get a few things out, and then it's like--give twenty dollars, buy a kid a teddy bear. We could probably get enough example stock in to make a difference for under $100, and the charity would be happier with symbolic toys."

"Couldn't hurt," Bellamy says. He glances over his shoulder at Raven. "So, one meeting with Roan was all it took to get you all-in on this?" he asks. "You're really buying into this rivalry thing?"

"If you guys are invested, I'm invested," she says. "That's how love works. And you guys are basically always about five minutes away from fighting someone for no reason, so I guess this is my life now."

He leaves the stove to kiss her shoulder. "This is definitely your life. Thanks for helping."

"Yeah, yeah," she says. "Thank me when we win."

"So, do we have a code word for when one of us wants to buy something for one of the others?" Bellamy asks. "How does this work?"

"I just got you guys presents online," says Raven. "I hate stores."

"But here you are," says Clarke.

"It's for a good cause."

"Unlike our Christmas presents."

"Yeah, you guys don't need help like needy kids do. You're fine."

"You seriously already got your shopping done?" Bellamy asks. Apparently this is a sticking point for him. "It's like a month until Christmas."

"Two and a half weeks," Clarke corrects.

"I buy stuff when I see it," Raven adds, with a shrug. "Don't be jealous you're not as efficient as I am."

"That's exactly why I'm jealous. It's not that Clarke is impossible to shop for."

"He's bitter because every year, I get him a better Christmas present," Clarke says, with a smirk.

"You get me books," he says, petulant.

"You love books."

"See? Easy to shop for." He glances at Raven. "What about you, what do you want?"

"Cool tech shit."

"Fuck, I can't shop for you either."

"Just ask Monty," says Clarke. "That's what I did."

His eyes narrow. "Fuck, am I the only one who isn't done with my shopping?"

"You have other skills," she says, patting his shoulder.

"Which means if you don't buy us presents, you can always just give the gift of sex," Raven adds.

"I already give the gift of sex. If I see anything I want to get you guys, I'm leaving, and fuck you both."

"That is, again, the gift of sex," Clarke says. "Which you already give us. But sure. If you take off, we'll just leave you behind to die."

"Yeah, that's what I'd expect." He runs his hand through his hair. "Honestly, we're probably all going to die anyway. I know you guys don't buy a lot of stuff for kids in the holiday season, but toy stores are a fucking nightmare."

"You still have traumatic flashbacks to getting your sister the most popular toy every year, huh?" Raven asks.

"You have no idea."

But it's not actually that bad. Honestly, it's kind of fun, which Bellamy would probably deny if anyone said it aloud, but his delight is written all over his face. It feels as if they're living in a montage from a Christmas movie, albeit a surprisingly sexually progressive one.

It also feels--sustainable. She can imagine herself in years to come, shopping for Bellamy's sister's inevitable children, for the bar, maybe even for kids of their own, someday, if that's something they want and can figure out how to do.

It's so shocking a thought that she nearly staggers. Raven's never thought of herself as someone who wanted kids, and it felt like the first fault line in her relationship with Finn, before he cheated and destroyed everything. It was less that he wanted children and she didn't and more that he was so sure she'd change her mind, that her lack of interest in reproduction was a passing whim, something that would go away once she got older and biology kicked in. It didn't seem impossible to Raven, but the way Finn treated it as a matter of course was unnerving.

And now, well. It's not exactly that she wants children; she still feels a little uncomfortable with the idea, and there's no way she wants to be the one to have them. But if Clarke wanted to get pregnant, she'd want to be involved.

She'd still be part of the family.

"You okay?" Bellamy asks, noticing her lagging. If anyone had asked, she would have said they were solid, but she hadn't really thought they were this solid.

It hasn't even been a year. She didn't think she was this attached.

"Yeah. Just thinking about how many more years we've got to do this."

"Rivalries are forever," he agrees, putting his arm around her and squeezing. "Thanks for coming. I know me and Clarke get kind of--stupidly competitive."

She leans against him, grateful to be happier than she is freaked out. "Wouldn't be anywhere else. Someone's got to keep an eye on you two, or you'd buy out the entire store just to beat Roan."

"We probably couldn't afford it," he decides, after a somewhat concerning pause. "But good thing you're here anyway."

"Yeah," she says. "Lucky you."

As rivalries go, Roan and Bellamy's holiday charity one is somewhat frustrating. It's not that Raven doesn't get it--of course she gets it--and more that they all have so little control over it. They do all they can, obviously; she and Clarke set up an appealing display that looks something like a carnival booth, bright toys arranged next to dollar amounts, tempting patrons into donating just $10, which is still enough to make a kid's holiday, and Bellamy gives the promised inspirational speeches every night about the spirit of Christmas and how much these things make a difference, which, honestly, no matter how often Raven hears them, never get old. Bellamy's a good businessman, but she can't help thinking he's wasted here. If not for his probably disqualifying lifestyle choices, she'd say he should get into politics, but he's just going to have to settle for using his powers to sell drunk people on philanthropy.

Still, aside from sinking all their own funds into the charity drive, they don't really have anything more they can do to tip the balance. She and Clarke stop by Roan's every few days to do some recon, but it's hard to get that much information. He and Bellamy both update their weird thermometers every day, tracking both business's profits, and it's actually pretty close. Which just makes the whole thing worse. If Bellamy was just getting crushed (which was apparently what happened last year), they could just give up on their emotional investment. But since he has a chance, it's incredibly stressful.

The official close of the drive is Christmas Eve, and given how many of their regulars Bellamy and Roan have actually managed to get invested in the whole thing, they have to have an actual ceremony to determine who the winner is. It's actually incredibly complicated, far more than it deserves, because both Bellamy and Roan live for drama, which means they both want a lot of attention and also don't trust the other to not try to pull a fast one.

So Raven and Clarke spend the evening with Roan and his assistant manager Echo, reviewing the non-monetary contributions both businesses amassed. In the interest of fairness, Clarke and Raven verify the amount for Roan's donations while Roan and Echo do Bellamy's, and they check the prices versus Amazon as a master list. It's a lot more precise than their previous calculations, which means that even though Roan was ahead yesterday, there's no way to be sure he won.

Especially because Bellamy is in the bar, hyping everyone who's lonely and drinking on Christmas Eve to believe in the magic of the season and the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes with giving to charity.

His donations close at ten, and the rest of them go down to the bar then, so Raven and Echo can start the recount of the money with a live, appreciative audience. She's never had a group of drunks cheering for her doing math, but it's admittedly kind of fun. Even though some of Roan's friends and regulars showed up, they're very clearly on Bellamy's home turf, and the pressure for him to get a win, after two years without, since Roan actually realized what was happened and started putting some effort in, is as intoxicating as the booze.

Or, well, not quite as intoxicating. But between that and the real booze, everyone is really, really invested in the whole thing.

Roan got more donations of goods and fewer of cash, so Raven finishes her count first and updates the final tally. Roan's number is significantly higher than his estimate from yesterday, and he was already winning, so she can't help a sinking feeling in her stomach. But Echo's still counting, frown going deeper and deeper, until she looks up with at least twenty bills still left in her hands and says, "Bellamy's ahead."

It's much less ceremony than Roan and Bellamy would have liked, something of an anticlimax after all of the careful planning, but once the proclamation has sunk in, there's no room for disappointment, because the bar explodes with applause. It's honestly like nothing Raven has ever heard, and there's probably some kid who lives in the neighborhood who just got woken up from waiting for Santa by the noise, but it's hard to care.

"Holy shit, we won!" says Clarke, and there's the familiar juggling act of the three of them trying to figure out how to position themselves for hugs, Raven finally taking Bellamy's left side while Clarke takes his right, and the three of them trading quick, celebratory kisses before the patrons pull Bellamy's attention away.

The rest of the night passes in a haze of alcohol, affection, and laughter. Roan and Echo stick around, have a drinking contest with Clarke which absolutely no one wins, and even Bellamy gets a little drunk, because it's Christmas Eve and no one cares.

She's had good holidays before, but nothing like this. Nothing even close. She didn't know this was an option, didn't even know to want it.

The three of them stagger home together, fall into bed, Clarke in the middle with Raven curled around her and Bellamy off on his side because he can't actually fall asleep while he's cuddling, most nights, and she barely even remembers it's Christmas the next day. Of course she's looking forward to having the day off tomorrow, to sleeping in and probably getting laid, to finding out what amazing breakfast Bellamy will make, to seeing how much he and Clarke like their presents and finding out what they got her, but it doesn't feel vital, like it sometimes does. It doesn't feel like such a big deal.

After all, she already has everything she wants.

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splinteredworld · 7 years

Text

Homes Don’t Have to Be Perfect Final Chapter

Lance’s heart vanished from his chest as Shiro went on.

“There was a wreck and he was hurt.” Lance’s blood turned to ice. Shiro took a shaky breathe. “We’re at the hospital. I think you should come as soon as you can.” Lance choked on a sob as he tried to stand. His legs felt weak as he fell to his knees. Biting his lip, he tried to speak.

“Is he-” Lance sobbed again.

“No, he-” Shiro took another breath in, “Just get here when you can. And Lance, be careful.” Lance nodded as he cried, cupping his hand over his mouth to stop the noise. Shiro paused for a moment before bidding him goodbye and hung up. Lance let the phone slid out of his hand as he pulled his knees up. Burying his head in between them, he felt his sobs break his ribs open. Why couldn’t things just go his way for once? It seemed that when everything was nice and perfect something bad would happen. Lance cursed Fate as he tried to stumble onto his feet. Even if things were never perfect, he had to get to Keith. Lance cleaned up his face and grabbed Pike. Pike whined and grumbled at being woken up, but soon fell back to sleep against Lance’s shoulder. Quickly grabbing the diaper bag, his wallet, and his keys, Lance rushed out to the car. With Pike secured safely in the back seat, Lance angled the rear view mirror down so he could see Pike. He needed the constant reminder that the baby was in the back seat so he would drive safe. He couldn’t lose the other person he loved. Pulling out, Lance headed towards the unknown fate that waited for him at the hospital.

When he arrived, he grabbed the bag and car seat and rushed inside. As he entered the waiting room, he was greeted with the sight of all of his friends. Everyone was seated except for Shiro, who paced the room. Matt’s eyes followed Shiro’s distressed footsteps with a sad look in his eyes. Pidge, tired from being woken up from their daily nap, was dozing on and off against Allura’s shoulders as Hunk gripped Shay’s hand tightly in his. Lance’s bare feet slapped the tile floor harshly as he rushed over to them.

“What happened? Where Keith? Is he okay?” Lance rushed the words out of his mouth, afraid that if he didn’t his voice wouldn’t hold. Matt stood slowly and walked Lance to the line of chairs. Pushing him down, Matt turned to grab Shiro’s arm. Shiro seemed surprise until he noticed Lance’s red eyes and quivering lip. He ran his hands over his face as he tried to take a deep breathe. Pike made a soft noise as Lance set the car seat down.

“Keith was in an accident.” Shiro started quietly. “He was on his way home from Lord knows where when a car ran him off the road. He flipped his bike and hit his head hard enough to knock his helmet off. I don’t know much about his condition. All they have told me is that he hasn’t regained consciousness yet.” Shiro sighed as he looked up, trying to stop the tears. Lance gasped for breath as he gripped his hair.

“He was leaving my house. We-We went back to my house to watch a movie after we ate and-and by the time he left it was dark. I shouldn’t of let him go. I-I should had made him stay. This is all my fault!” Lance pulled on his hair harder as he folded in on himself. The room fell quiet at Lance’s break. Slowly, people began to move. Allura nudged Pidge up as she crossed the room. She pulled Lance into a bone crushing hug as she shushed him softly. Pidge pulled open their computer and started to type in it frantically. Hunk and Shay looked at each other as they whispered out a plan. Matt gripped Shiro’s hand and counted to bring Shiro’s breathing back to normal. When Lance had calmed down enough to be reasoned with, Hunk and Shay walked over. Picking up the car seat, Hunk patted Lance’s shoulder.

“We will take Pike back to my house. Call me if anything comes up.” Lance nodded as he handed Shay the diaper bag.

“Please be careful.” Lance’s voice broke as he tried to smile at his friend. Hunk patted his shoulder once more before reaching out for Shay’s hand. Lance watched them walk away until the doors closed behind them. Pidge pushed up their glasses as they turned to the group.

“It was no accident. I hacked the police files and got the eye witness accounts. There’s no mistaking the car that was described. It was Nyma.” Pidge looked at Matt with stone cold eyes. “We are going to the police department now. We may get in trouble for messing with her car, but she is not getting away with this.” Matt looked up at Shiro before nodded at Pidge. Matt gripped Shiro’s hand tighter before letting go. He reached up and pulled Shiro down into a kiss.

“I’m just one call away. I love you.” Shiro kept his eyes close as he nodded.

“I love you too.” Matt kissed him one last time before he walked away. Allura grabbed Pidge’s hand and kissed their knuckles.

“Be safe,” Allura sighed as Pidge kissed the top of her head. The Holts rushed out of the door. Shiro sat down next to Lance. “I’m going to go call Coran.” Allura stood up and walked to the nearby hallway.

“Now all we can do is wait.” He sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall. Lance as he looked down at his hands.

It seemed like hours before the doctor emerged from the back. By that time, Allura had left to go see what the situation was with the police and the Holts. Lance was fighting sleep when the door was pushed open.

“Family of Mr. Kogane?” The doctor called out. Shiro was up on his feet before Lance could even blink. The air turned heavy as Lance leaned forward to hear the doctor. “He sustained some minor wounds across his body, but our biggest concern is the damage done to his head. We do not know the exact amount of damage done until he wakes up, but we fear that some of it may not be reversible.” Shiro nodded as he squared his shoulders.

“Can we see him?” He asked with a surprisingly strong voice. The doctor shook his head.

“I’m afraid not right now. He has just come out of surgery. The left side of his face had many broken bones that need repair. Once he is out of the recovery room, a nurse will come to get you.” Shiro nodded as the doctor turned and left. As Shiro turned to sit back done, Lance felt as is his body was turned to lead. He couldn’t move or think properly. He couldn’t even remember if he was breathing or not. Shiro must of noticed his situation for he grabbed Lance’s forearm and pulled him up.

“Let’s go for a walk.” He whispered as he pulled Lance down a hall. They walked the maze called a hospital until they arrived at the cafeteria. Shiro ordered two coffees and forced one into Lance’s hands. “If Keith doesn’t wake up soon, I want you to go home and get some rest.” Shiro spoke firmly with a soft undertone.

“No.” Lance bit out over the coffee lid.

“Lance-”

“No!” He slammed the coffee down, splashing some up on his hands, lightly burning his skin. “It’s my fault he’s in this hell hole. The most I can do is be here when he wakes up.” Lance looked away from Shiro’s eyes. “What else am I to do? Go home and wallow in self pity?” He knew he should be so harsh, but he was hurting. “If I hadn’t come here in the first place Keith wouldn’t be hurt. Nyma would never got mad or jealous and would never had run him off the road. He would be fine if I never showed up.” Why should he be nice if the world wasn’t nice to him?

“Lance,” Shiro sighed. “Keith wouldn’t be fine if you never showed up. He would had continued to fall in and out of depression just like he had before. With you and Pike around, he has something to fight for again. You reminded him why life is worthwhile.” Shiro drank the rest of his coffee before meeting Lance’s eye. “Go home. Sleep, shower, do something. Frankly, you look like shit. You don’t have shoes or a shirt and the bags under your eyes are bigger than Keith’s ever been, and he is an insomniac.” Lance glanced down. Shiro reached across the table and started to whip the coffee off Lance’s hands. “We don’t know when he will wake up. It could be minutes or it could be days. Butt if you are not here, I swear I will call you the second anything changes. Keith would want you to take care of yourself and Pike first.” As Shiro spoke, Lance started to notice how tired he was and how much the coffee had hurt. “Keith needs you, but he needs you to be functioning and at your best. So, take care of yourself, if not for yourself than for Pike and for Keith.” Looking at his red spotted hands, Lance nodded slowly.

“Call me no matter what. I-I just need to know that he is going to be okay. I can’t lose him.” Shiro nodded as Lance stood up. “I’m going to go call Hunk to get Pike.” He said as he walked away. Shiro watched him as his heart felt heavy. These poor boys had been through too much.

When Lance go to Hunk’s place, Hunk forced him into a chair and started to treat the burns on his hands. Then, he made Lance lay down and watched over him until he fell asleep on the sofa. Pulling a blanket over him, Hunk silently prayed that his friends would be okay in the end.

Sadly, Keith did not wake up during the night and, as expected, Lance was back in the waiting room the first thing in the morning. Laptop in hand, Lance started to work on the magazine ads that were due soon to keep his mind off of things. Allura played with Pike quietly after making Shiro leave to go get some sleep. Before Shiro left, she informed them that the Holt siblings and Hunk would have to remain at the police station for a while for questioning. She also said that the police would be calling Lance soon to get his side of the story.

Lance pulled up the ads pictures for Legendary Life magazine. They were doing an issue for LGBTQ+ matters and wanted to feature Allura’s company in the magazine. They wanted to include a few of the previously used photos along with an interview with Allura with the two full page images. The images would be the opening for the article, which was to be titled “One Love, One Life, One Family”. Scanning through the lines of picture of Matt and Shiro, Lance decided on one where Shiro held Matt in his arms. The brilliant bouquet of flowers hung from Matt’s hand at his side as his other arm wrapped around Shiro’s neck. The two had their eyes close as the leaned towards each other to touch their noses together lightly. Lance smiled at the picture as he toned down the colors slightly and adjusted the lighting until it had a soft, holy glow to it. He then typed out the words “One Love” in a curly font and colored them white. Dragging the words up, he placed them on the picture above Shiro’s head. He then reopened the picture file and scrolled down until he reached the ones of Pike, Keith and him. He froze for a moment when he saw Keith’s face, unharmed, awake, and happy. Drawing in a quick breath, he clicked on the photo of Keith and himself lifting Pike up by his arms. Keith had that soft smile on his face as he glanced down at Pike, who was caught mid-giggle. Lance smiled a little as he saw the love that was present in both Keith’s and his eyes. Giving the picture the same heavenly glow, Lance moved the white “One Life” words above their hands. As he typed out the “One Family” words across the bottom of both pictures, Lance wondered if Keith and him could still have a life where they gave Pike a complete family. Finishing off the pages with a muted rainbow banner, Lance sent the pages off the Allura’s company email for approval.

Closing the laptop, Lance took Pike from Allura so she could get some rest. He set Pike on his lap and smoothed down his hair. It seemed with each passing day, Pike was growing up. Lance smiled sadly at the thought that soon Pike wouldn’t be a baby anymore. Lance moved his hands in front of them both and started to teach Pike a new sign. This sign brought tears to his eyes for it meant so much more than the name it stood for.

It would be three more day until Keith woke up. By that time, Lance had gone to the police station and told them how Nyma tended to be abusive in their relationship and how she threatened to take Pike away from him. With Keith still out, the trial would have to wait, but the police were in the process of arrest Nyma as Lance and Shiro sat in the hospital’s waiting room. The Holts and Hunk were let off with a warning since Nyma threatened Lance and since no one was harmed by their modifications.

Lance was running through signs with Pike when the doctor came out. He walked right over to Shiro and Lance with a soft smile.

“Keith is awake. So far, most of the test have come back with wonderful results. By some miracle, there is no damage to his brain. But, I must warn you before you go back. When the bones around his eye socket broke, there was damage done to his eye. Most of the damage can not be repair and it is likely that he will not regain sight in his left eye.” They both nodded as the doctor directed them to stand. “Now, if you promise to be calm, I can left you in to see him.” He looked over at Lance. “Just out of curiosity, what is your relation with Mr. Kogane?” Lance stuttered about for an answer as Shiro laughed.

“He’s Keith’s special someone.” The doctor nodded as led him to Keith’s room.

“I did not want to assume. My husband has been trying to get me to stop depending on my ‘gaydar’ as he says.” The doctor pushed the door open and let them in. Shiro entered first and greeted Keith with a soft ‘Hey’. Lance stopped for a moment before turning to the doctor.

“Thank you.” He said as he shifted Pike higher up his hip and walked through the door. Keith laid on a bed covered in white sheets. He only had a few wires and tubes connected to him, but Lance knew that this number was much lower than it had previously been. White and beige bandages covered various parts of Keith’s body and a black brace covered his left wrist. Half of Keith’s face was covered in bandages, but it did not stop his smile from pulling up when he saw Lance. Walking over to the bed, Lance reached for Keith’s hand, holding it tight in his.

“Hey, good-lookin’.” He smiled softly as he whispered. “Decided you didn’t look bad-ass enough without a few scars?” Keith snorted as Lance sat down on the bed with Pike in his lap. Pike looked at Keith for a moment before clapping his hands and reaching out. Lance tried to discourage Pike by bouncing him lightly on his lap. Pike made a whining noise in the back of his throat as he signed something that Keith did not know. Pike stacked two ‘k’ on top of each other and then brought them to his heart. He repeated the sign before clapping and reaching out for Keith again. Lance made a startled noise as he glared down at Pike. Darn his kid for being a fast learner.

“What’s that sign for?” Keith’s voice was a little rough as he spoke. Lance meet his eyes as he felt his cheeks grow red.

“It’s your sign name. I guess he really missed you.” Lance laughed a little as he rubbed the back of his neck. Shiro barked out a laugh as Keith turned bright red. “It took awhile to figure one out, but I didn’t expect him to pick up on it so fast. I kind of based it off of the sign for babysitter, if that is okay.” Keith slowly pushed himself up more and picked up Pike. He smiled at Lance. He reached out and placed his hand on Lance’s cheek. Shiro grinned as he turned around, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Go on and kiss. Just remember we are in a hospital.” He laughed as Keith’s face turned bright red.

“Shiro!” Keith yelled as Lance giggled softly. He leaned forward and weaved his fingers into Keith’s hair. Keith sighed as Lance leaned down more and let their lips touch. Pulling away, Keith meet Lance’s gaze.

“The sign,” He spoke softly against Lance’s lips, “ It’s perfect.”

A few years passed and the bond between Keith and Lance grew. Nyma was sent to jail and was never heard from again. Shiro and Matt had a beautiful wedding where Pike was the flower boy, for no one trusted him to carry the rings down the aisle. That job was left to Black, who they knew would not through the golden bands. Just as expect, Keith never gained his eyesight back in his left eye, but that never stopped him. The kids at the daycare seemed to find the scars amusing rather than being scared of Keith’s big, bad biker persona. It probably also helped that the kids were head over heels for Keith’s service dog, Blue, who was also being trained to help Pike too.. When Pike was three, Keith moved in with them. When Pike was four, he started going to special classes in the next city over so he could start learning to read and learning more advance signing. The school also offered speech classes for Pike, but Lance turned them down. Later that night, Keith asked why. Lance looked up from the signing pamphlets he was given with a smile.

“They want Pike to adapt himself to the hearing world, but he doesn’t need too. Pike doesn’t need to be the society’s standard of normal to be wonderful.” He looked back down at the pamphlets. “Pike can decide for himself if he wants to be like them when he is older. Right now, he is perfect just the way he is.” Keith leaned over and kissed Lance soundly. He couldn’t be more in love with this man than he was right now.

One Saturday, while they all were watching a movie, Lance looked up at Keith with a nervous smile. Keith had Pike sitting in his lap and Lance leaning on his legs from the ground. Tapping Keith’s shin, he drew Keith’s attention away from the TV.

“What do you think of one day adopting him?” Lance asked softly, nodded towards Pike.

“I don’t know,” Keith started off slowly. “I never really had a home. How can I give something that I never had? Plus, I’m not the ideal image of a parent. How can I give him the home he deserves?” Keith sighed as he brushes a piece of Pike's hair back.

“Homes don’t have to be perfect, Keith." Lance looked up from his place on the floor with love in his eyes. "They just have to be full of love, and I know you love him.” Keith pondered the question in silence for a moment as Pike watched the show on tv from his lap. Absentmindedly running his hands through Pike’s hair, Keith accidently grabbed his attention. Pike turned and looked up at him as he signed ‘what’. Over the years, Pike had grew use to signing and almost perfect the language at even a young age. Keith smiled and signed ‘nothing’ with a shrug of his shoulders. Pike smiled at him before turning back to the tv.

“Yeah, one day I would like him to be mine too.” Keith sighed softly as Lance stood and kissed Keith on the head. He reached over to the left of Keith and grabbed a box, bringing it into Keith’s line of sight.

“Good, cause Keith, will you marry me?”

Perfect : having all the required or desirable elements, qualities, or characteristics; as good as it is possible to be.

Their home may not had been perfect by definition, but it was perfect to them.

It’s finished!!

Read from the beginning: Chapter 1

#klance fanfic #klance #Voltron legendary defender #baby pike #dad lance #babysitter keith #family feels #fluff #side of shatt #hints of pallura #deaf character #finished fanfiction #mybabies

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the-starry-artist · 7 years

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D&D Session:What the Fuck is going on

A proper title since our Dragonborn kept yelling what the fuck is happening for nearly the whole game because he kept spacing out.

Its been a long ass time since we played. We are trying to work around work and graduations right now. I’m glad we have two people writing to story down orI would have no idea whats going. I don’t particularly remember how we ended but we started the session up with us in a forest. We were all huddled around our campsite in this dark gloomy forest. Our DM was letting us conduct the story which doesn’t go well with two bumbling D&D players and the veteran. We got it moving slowly though. Our dragonborn acquired a Whispy Dagger from the last session by literally one punching a ghost. He tries to inspect it and ends up having an extensional crisis. Our DM explains to us whats happening. Me: “STAB YOURSELF IN THE EYES FOR GHOST VISION” He thought about it but he ultimately decides to pass it around and share the extensional crisis. It ended up sorta attaching to our tiefling leader. While those two pretty much try to progress the story my spiders ended up breeding more spiders. I now have 360 spiders. While getting the spiders: Me: *laughing loudly and manically*

Dragonborn (who irl is extremely arachnophobic) : “your girlfriend is scaring me, tell her to stop.”

Me: “I GOT 360 SPIDERS NOW”

Dragonborn: “NO!”

I ended up spacing out and I had no idea what was happening. Pretty much our leader trying to communicate with some sort of spirits that could only be seen by the person holding the dagger. Some time later we seem to have an event going and the whole party questions what time it is as we’ve been there a few hours. Tiefling: “What time is it?”

Me: “....4:20 what you smoking”

We kinda gauged the forest is somehow keeping us and in the background our dragonborn:

“We ain’t in Kansas no more.”

Me (as my Fey Corgi): “....What the fuck is a Kansas?”

Dragonborn: “I DON’T KNOW!”

Our Tiefling decides to backtrack and heads towards the manor where the first dungeon was. She ends up circling back to our camp.

Me: “Oh God we’re like that episode of Spongebob when they’re trapped in the Kelp Forest.” (my character is asleep at this point.)

While performing a few rolls I end up seeing the monsters appearance. I actually thought my DM said Youtube channel I was a little more horrified. We noticed the beasts hated light while our tiefling decides to make a mega torch I decided to light a whole tree on fire.

Me and Dragonborn: “WE WANT BIG FIRE! WE SET FOREST FIRE!”

I end up actually causing a sorta forest fire. Smokey bear can’t save us now. We walk along and find tracks out DM describes them as being cuts that look pushed through. Me: “IT’S AN ALASKAN BULL WORM.”

We all kept passing the dagger around....I still had no idea what we were doing with the dagger. We end up being face to face with a ghost being who speaks my language of Fey. I try asking for a way out and it freaks. I ask if it knows common, it does so I pass the dagger to our Tiefling. She tries talking to it and it sorts to freak out more I just end up saying stop a hundred times cause I didn’t want to lose the ghost.

The ghost gestures to our fire. The two bumbling D&D players proclaim to give the fire to ghost and we get married jokingly. Our tiefling who’s the smartest figures out to put the fire out. One by one we put our torches out with each one it closer and closer and changes more and more beastly.

I ended up figuring out that it’s trying to steal out life essences. My boyfriend, the DM, gives it away by smiling I legit yell “YOU MOTHERFUCKER! I LOVED YOU!” (btw we do these sessions online via Skype Me and the DM are the only ones together irl because we basically live together). Around this time where me and the tiefling our destroying the monster. The dragonborn and Dm conspire against me. I not allow the know but the dragonborn ultimately confesses he was planning to kill my spiders and the DM allowed it....Because the DM is an asshole.

So we end up fucking bolting as soon as the monster dies and revels a path. We end up seeing a town but the outside is covered in piked human skulls. Our tiefling notices the skulls are fake so we travel into town trying to find our way back to the guild. Upon entering it is full of rejects monster people, animal people etc.

The Tiefling, who hides her species with an illusion spell, take it off upon entering the town:

Me: “Everyone hates Momma a little more.”

Tiefling: “....I put my hood back up....” (she really doesn’t).

The town had an inn, tavern, market place, shops, and a restaurant. We decide to get food and head to the restaurant. The DM who as much of trash as me makes the God damn restaurant Grillby’s pub.....I’m mad because I was looking to seduce and this is what he does to me. So we sit at the bar and there’s Grillby and I sigh fucking loudly cause everyone knows whats happening. I get a successful seduce. I feel judged and attack the DM is laughing and going “I’M GONNA LET YOU FUCK THE BARTENDER!” I’m wondering why he’s letting me and why is he like this.

I’m saying actually prayers for myself. I roll again I get a five I’m ready to fucking pack up NOPE HE STILL HIT. My character line is around saying his voice is probably hot too. My boyfriend who is now being goofy and taunting me does this voice https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=My0tJvQvmlI to talk back to me. Basically everyone is laughing I’m dying inside. We decide to leave the bar I’m like WELL I’LL JUST KEEP IT UP! .....Another hit. The DM is laughing and looking at me he’s honestly trying to ask what I say. I just say fuck it “see you latter hot stuff.” Everyone is laughing while I quietly whisper I want to die. Grillby shoots me a finger gun and an ember writes his address on a napkin so I can write letters. I whisper again I want to die the group is howling.

We all go our separate ways our Tiefling goes to get more potions and arrows and to locate a blacksmith for weapon upgrades. Our dragonborn does the same and also find a tailor. Me on the other hand I decide to steal shit. I go down to the market with our awoken undead who couldn’t show up to session so he’s just gliding around follow who ever.

He pretty much comes with me since I house the spiders in him. I end up sending 180 of my 360 spiders to steal food. 80% come back with food the other 20% come sad and bunched up. I decide to share the food then sell the rest and share the gold. They thanked me for feeding them as they didn’t expect to be fed. I WILL FEE MY CHILDREN. I make our undead a table and start selling food pawning it off as super food and magical food. After everything my spiders hug me and thank me for the food and gold.

Back to our dragonborn who find a tailor doesn’t have enough gold to upgrade his cloak he haggles by seducing.

Me: “Would you like to tame my dragon?”

Dragon: “.....God damn it Sethy (my corgi).

He succeeds and ask for an illusion spell added he doesn’t have gold so he haggles with seduction again. Me: “you gotta just start selling yourself man.”

Dragon: “I AM NOT SELLING MYSELF!”

We ended our session at the local inn which I had to pay since I have the most money with everyone down to low tens and I carrying 300. Our next session will be us trying to make it back the guild.

#d&d #story time #my writing #it's very long #im so sorry #we played for three hours straight #and tried to bang out as much as possible from our missed sessions

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huckurns · 5 years

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omhaa steaks date: Mon, Apr 29, 2019 at 10:04 AM

my boss gives out coupons he loves the things thats his weekend, a kitchen island covered in all the taactile sticky non newspaper paper that lives in the middle of the newspaper its a colorful mess, ot some acme got come khls got some best buy got some shop rite gor some good stuff for customizable checks you can get those things personalized, i bet i mean if i had a check book i alwasy thought it would be cool to have it be like a full football field wiht the end zone in siht i thought it would be a strong presence when signing the initial checks to start my llc for my custom car cleaning business, i mean that was a side project haha a real pike dream i just really wanted to get my hands all over my bosses car, but haha his coupons wouldnt work on me, but yeah sometimes he invites me over on the weekend to go through his collection, he takes a walk early saturday and opens up everyone on the street over from his newspapers, he lives in a condo development so the streets are all the same and it his neighbors all know its him but he still likes to take the coupons from the street bc he knows they have the best newspaper variety, some good pickings, everyone knows the times has the more upscale super market coupons he even mentioned how this weeknd he found what he thought could be the best coupon. sometimes hell just flaunt them around the office, like 'oh eveeryone ! we could e having a morning coffee cake 2 for 5 entements of course, BUT YOU ALL ARE SLACKING AND IT AINT EVEN WEDNESDAY YET MAYBE THE EXPIRATION DATE ON THIS GUY WILL RUN OUT BEFORE I CAN USE IT ON YOU GUYS HAHA OPH WHATS THIS IT EXPIRESFRIDAY UH OH SOME PEOPLE GOTTA GET their numbers up AND THOSE people who whta numbers need to go up and they all should know whom they are bc it s all of you ALL OF U NEED TO GET ALL YOUR NUMBERS UP. he meant it too, but this eweeekend when he showed me the omaha steaks gift card he said it with a tone that was different from his auther flaunts or taunts he showed me the coupon and saif " this could cahnge it all, this right here could turn the office around... i think i should give it to you. ITLL GIVE ME TOO MUCH POWER i cant start you know being a opush over all of a sudden i cant strart cashing in these coupons for my people i mean you are all my people i may be harsh sometimes , but an expiration date is a nice motivating factor right? you guys get all jived uop i can see if, i tell you that the deal on 36 packs of pepsi products aint going to last all week and yeah you guys might crack a few extra pops, BUT IT IS ALL FOR THE LOVE OF THE GAME, PLAY HARD OR GO HOME if you aint cracking papsis to be getting more pepsis then idk where you are from bc from where i am from we gotta crush a can to crack a can." so he gave the omaha steaks coupon to me, then he snatched it back real quick" what what the fuck this is alot, this is alot of beef, HOLY SHIT THIS . IS A LOT OF COW MY MAN this is a lot of BEEF MY mAN, haha i mean maybe i cant give u all the credit they are going to lose it at work, but i mean what if they dont make it in time, what if you tell them the expiration date and it is too much and they start seeating start them meat sweats thinking about all the meat, before they are even close the the numbers we need to be doing they would already be mioles away thinking about green pastors and cows noshing cud chewing cud into their multiple stomaches, HELL WHAT AM I DOING, CUT THAT OUT i fires amanda right shes long gone haha, she told me that whole cud bullshit that whole 2 stomach lie amanda was so full OF HER SELF SHE DIDNT SEE EYE TO eye with the company hahaha but why am i telling you that you fired her haha for me may have you but i mean we didnt need her aroudn she would not have stood for this ill tell you that she would rip up this coupon in plain sight right on the spot ON SIGHT, damn vaygan damn stinky oat pusher, ahahaha no she was nice i gave her a nice reference and refered her to our other branch a little outside the city but outside enough that they have drool worthy rent, tgheres a brudgening art community out there more affordable living, and more of a focus on copmmunity, working together with neighbors and friends to be building a smaller more sustainable community, ahhahahahah it makes me sick what numbskulls." he give s me the coupon back "itll be simple okay," my boss, my boss is now looking for his beverage, id say coffee bc that what it looks like but this guy abstains from caffine i dont think he is mormnan but mentioned the complete power that mmornam fathers have he has given full speaches to full conferences of peple from aroudn the world on how mormon fathers are so powerful, how they control their whole familyds and brainwash their young into doing whatever they say. i know a mormomn and over the weeekdn she posted for her brothers birthday on insta gram, one of the most unforgivable acts one can preform on instagram, but this post, for her brother was a screenshot of a text from her dad and it was a picture of her brother sent from her father and it said: heres you post for gus's birthday with the caption : mr gus is growing up. and she just posted the whole screenshot which yes, right on the nose like she is aware she must be nuts like she is self aware that she is brainwashed by father but like is this a cry for help i saw that post and was like okay so this is just her mormon instagram where all the comments are people also apart of the acult but then i was like maybe this person is so delusisional that they are okay portraying themself as complete slave to their parents its weird in a way that she feels her father is her boss. its odd. "you take the coupon, where the hell is my ovultine," a big stack of the slippery colorfully printed coupon paper starts to slide off the table but its that slow fall where the top starts to fall and eventually the full stack will fall, but each layer has to pull the next layer down with it so itll take a while to fully fall but my boss lets em all fall as he takes a gulp from his chocolate drink. "oyou take the coupon you present it to everyone in the office you can even stand on my desk ill allow it this will be a bbig day, ill call out that day so that you can look like a dark horse and everyone will cheer for you, ill be hidining in my closet while this is going down but thats just for me:) i just want to hear their yelps when you exclaim when you announce nononon WHEN YOU DECLARE THE OFFICE BBQ, byt you really got to sell it it might help if you read soime of the lines off here, " BIG OMAHA STEAKS BIG JUICY T BONES" wow somne of this i might have to keep haha my freezers full, but it can go in the drink fridge in the 'rage in the garage thats whata i call my garage the 'RAGE but yeah i think theyll be into it, maybe something like 'OMAHA down set OMAHA HIKE EEEEE" its a football thing, those colts fans will get a real kick out of it a big kick. " hes standing on the couch stepping around the couch, crunchin coupons as he steps on the couch, he is dancing around like a quarter back pass faking everywhere pass faking around the living room. "OMAHA AAAAAA HIKE OMAHAAAAAAAAAAA" he has done this before sadly, the omaha steak coupons arent rare they arent they just send them out seasonally so poepl get more excited for them the coupons are all for over 500$ worth of meat its a big deal he doesnt realize that he still has frozen beef in his drink fridge. "omahaaaaaaaaa down set OMAHAHHAHAHAAAAAAAAA, donwn set down set down set;..... HIKE OMAHAAAAA.. go for it this time okay go good for it this time we really gotta go get em good this time OUR NUMBERS WILL NOT LIE I AM TRUTH AND MY NUMBERS ARE THE FACTS AN EXPIRATION DATE IS JUST A MOTIVATION FACTOR TO GET IT BEOFRE ITS GONE BEFORE ITS TOO LATE BEFORE ITS NO GOOD ANY MORE" he breaks down in tears "I COULD HAVE BEEN A BEEF I COULD HAVE BEEN A QUARTER BACK"

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accidentalnewsiesblog · 5 years

Text

“The King of Brooklyn” and other monikers (Chapter 6)

I’d love you forever if you read this on ao3 but I’d also love you forever if you just read it at all

~3200 words

The Poker Player

1893

TW: gambling, minor swearing

The selling day had gone by quickly for Spot and Race, not only because of the easy-to-sell headlines but also because of a surprise Piker had promised them at the beginning of the day.

“Be back by dinner,” Piker’d said before they’d left. “I got somethin’ special for ya.”

So now Spot and Race were on a carriage back to the Heights, making conversation with the driver who had been kind enough to give them a ride from the racetrack.

They arrived at the stop nearest the lodge around thirty minutes later to find Piker sitting on the floor of the common area with a book. Spot had no idea how she could afford the collection of dime novels she seemed to have on hand. She was always reading something new. This one was orange, an elaborately-illustrated image of a cowboy leaning on a rifle on the front cover.

“Pike!” Spot called, but Piker waved her off.

“Almost done with this chapter! Go grab some dinner. I’ll be right down.”

And so they did. They sat with Hank and some of the younger boys who sold near the lodge, including a newcomer named Lucky Lucy who, like Race, had an affinity for gambling. Unlike Race, however, Lucky always seemed to bet on the right horse. Hank and Spot’s bunkmates joined them, a couple of ten-year-olds called Myron and Hot Shot. Hank suddenly became outnumbered at the table by younger kids and started on his well-rehearsed rant about how Mrs. Kirby should comp his rent because of how often he had to nanny the kids.

Piker had clearly told most of the lodge about her surprise, as her entrance into the dining hall was marked with a chorus of newsies joyously welcoming her.

“What is it, Pike? The suspense is killing us!” Hank called over the din.

“I got somethin’ real good for poker night!” came her response. “That is, if you think you can beat me.”

“You’re on!” Lucky accepted.

As the others also accepted the challenge, Spot turned to Race. He wasn’t looking at her, but around the room, presumably at his competition. His eyes were alight and Spot could see his mind running a mile a minute.

“You in?” she asked, calling his attention.

“Oh, yeah.”

She should’ve known. Race rarely turned down a challenge, especially when it came to gambling. In fact, he was already reaching into his pocket and thumbing through his earnings for the day.

“What’s the ante?”

“A nickel!” Piker told him as she headed for the dinner line.

“You sure you want to bet your earnings today?” Spot asked. “You never played with these guys. They’s ruthless.” She nodded over her shoulder. “Hank’s pretty good. He’s good at hedging his bets. Then Pike,” she pointed across the room, “she plays like she’s got nothin’ to lose.” She leaned in closer and whispered to him conspiratorially. “The one you really gotta watch out for is Lucky. The fellas think she cheats but I really think she’s just that good. Before you know it, you’ll be left with empty pockets but still be lookin’ for somethin’ to bet against her.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he responded with a wink. “What about you?”

“I’m thinkin’ about it.” Spot raised her voice. “Maybe once Piker tells us what she’s got up her sleeve!”

“All right! All right!” she responded as she sat across from them. “You want to know what I got to bet?”

Piker reached into her pocket, then a coin was flying at Spot’s face. She caught it one-handed and turned it over. A shiny silver dollar. A whole dollar coin.

“That enough to convince you, Spottie?” Piker smirked across the table.

Spot chuckled. “I ain’t wastin’ my hard-earned money for that!”

She felt Race elbow her in the shoulder. “C’mon, Spot! Play one round with us. Just a nickel!”

The others at the table egged her on as she briefly mulled it over. “Fine. One round.” Piker cheered in response. “But only one! No way you can talk me into gamblin’ a day’s earnings just to lose it all.”

“Wanna bet?” Lucky quipped as she snagged the silver dollar from Spot’s hand. The coin made its way around the table, Piker’s watchful eye aware of it every step of the way.

After dinner, the group made their way to the barrack where everyone collected the various decks of cards hidden throughout the building. Mrs. Kirby didn’t like gambling and so confiscated their cards when she caught them playing any kind of poker, which meant everyone just had to be sneaky. They collected three decks total, and the twenty or so players divided up into groups.

Spot found herself in a group with Race, Hank, and a few younger boys that Spot knew were really no threat. Myron had volunteered as their dealer and shuffled the cards while the rest of them procured the required ante.

Race was a better poker player than Spot had thought. Within minutes he’d knocked everyone out of the game except for her and Hank. Spot had played with Hank enough to know his tell — he nervously tapped his fingers against his cards when he was bluffing. But she couldn’t figure out Race. Any tic she thought could be his tell was just part of how he acted. He was always cocking his head or twitching his nose or doing things that would surely indicate bluffing in anyone else. But that was just how Race acted regularly.

Spot knew her own tell. She chewed the inside of her cheek. She used to chew on her lip when she bluffed, but it was such an obvious tell that she had to forcibly modify it for the sake of easier lying.

“I raise,” Hank said as he tossed a penny into the pot, fingers tapping nervously.

“Call,” Race responded as he stared him down across the circle.

Spot’s hand had been shit and she’d folded earlier on, so all focus was back on Hank.

“Raise.” He added another penny. He tapped against the cards in his hand.

Race simply added to the pile, nonverbally signalling his call.

The tapping stopped. Hank stared pointedly at Race, who didn’t back down. He’d clearly figured out Hank’s tell and was tempting him, as he’d temped the others, to bet it all.

He was good. Spot would give him that.

Hank only had two pennies left. He’d dipped further than a nickel into his earnings, betting almost twenty cents in total on the game, and Race was now calling his bluff. He had to hold up or back down with his tail between his legs.

Race, however, very much had the upper hand. He’d collected the majority of Hank’s twenty cents and knew the last few were very much within reach. Spot tried to identify if he could also be bluffing. He was leaning forward, not breaking eye contact with Hank. He was sitting with his legs crossed, elbows leaning on his knees. His right hand held his cards almost upside down, and his left hand was laid nonchalantly over the right. He raised his eyebrows as though to dare Hank to make his move.

He just sighed. “All in.” And Hank added his last two pennies to the pot.

“Call.” Race tossed in two of his own.

They both laid down their cards face-up. Race had a pair of eights. Hank had nothing. Race collected the pot as Hank sighed.

“Who let the Manhattan kid play?” he joked. He was only half-kidding.

It was down to Race and Spot. Whoever won would compete against the other groups’ winners for the whole pot, including Piker’s silver dollar coin.

The two tossed in their initial blind bets as Myron dealt their hands. Spot had pretty good odds and so raised by a penny. Then Race raised by a nickel.

Spot looked over at him. He was making eye contact. Leaning casually on his elbows as before, seemingly apathetic in the way he held his cards. Either he wasn’t bluffing or he had lying down to a science. She didn’t like being on this side of that look. She folded.

“Damn!” Race chuckled as he collected the pot. “I wanted to see if you’d bet more.” He tossed down his hand. Full house, tens and aces. Not bluffing.

Spot won the next hand, her own two pairs beating out Race’s nothing hand. Spot kicked herself for not noticing what had been different when he tried to bluff.

But after a few crappy hands, she was in the doghouse, close to out of money. Then she raised when she probably should have folded. She felt herself subconsiously bite the inside of her cheek, hoping Race wouldn’t notice or hadn’t yet figured out her tell.

Race looked at his own cards, then at the pot, then at Spot’s remaining change, then at Spot herself. He scrutinized her face as he called her bet. After a moment of tension, Spot raised again. Race called. Spot raised. Race called. Spot went all in. Race called. They finally laid down their hands.

Both had shit hands, but Spot’s high card of an ace outranked Race’s nine. Hank let out a dramatic gasp. They’d both been bluffing. Relieved, Spot collected the pot as Race continued to scrutinize. Spot had no idea if he’d found what he was looking for, but she once again had a fighting chance of beating him.

But he worked her down bit by bit until they were the last group still playing. The others watched from a distance, waiting to see who would play the other groups’ champions — Piker and Lucky Lucy, no surprise to anyone — in the final round. Hot Shot, who’d clearly been eliminated earlier on and volunteered to deal the last game, was absently shuffling a deck of cards as he watched the drama unfold.

Spot had three Jacks. Could go either way. Race was staring her down, waiting for her to call his bet or to fold. She called. He looked at his cards, then back at her. He raised by three cents. She glanced down at the last of her change. Three cents would leave her with one penny. She folded. Race collected the pot and set down his cards.

Nothing. He’d had absolutely nothing. The bastard had been bluffing.

The others chorused an “ooh” and Myron’s eyebrows shot up. For a dealer, he wasn’t very stoic.

Spot went out not with a bang but with a whimper. After the drama of Race bluffing her down to four cents, she couldn’t get any traction and lost her last penny on a hand where her high card of seven lost to Race’s ten. Still, she’d lasted longer against him than she thought she would, and she was itching to see how he would fare against the more seasoned players of Brooklyn.

The three champions circled up, Hot Shot showing off some fancy shuffling skills as everyone else settled in to watch the match.

“Hey!” came a voice from the end of the room.

Everyone turned to see Shiner and Tiny in the doorway, Shiner’s arms outstretched in a questioning pose.

“It’s almost midnight. You kids shoulda been asleep hours ago.” Shiner was right, but noises of disappointment rang from the peanut gallery anyway.

“We just got done with preliminaries!” Lucky protested. “We ain’t even dealt our first hand!”

“Then take it elsewhere. Everyone under the age of nine’s gotta go to bed. Nine and older can do what they want so long as you ain’t bein’ disruptive.”

It was a fair enough arrangement. The younger kids slunk off to bed, and everyone older migrated to the third floor hallway, far enough away from the barrack that they could play without disturbing anyone.

Piker had several tells. She tended to be confident and reckless in her bets, but only until an opponent starts taking her seriously. Holding up against her bets made her react one of two ways — if she had a good hand, she would continue to bet without question, but if she had a bad hand, her bets were often less confident and she would take a longer time on her turns. Her eyebrows were also very expressive, giving her away when she didn’t realize her tell was showing. It wasn’t long before Race clearly caught on, and he and Lucky together knocked her out with ease.

Lucky, like Race, was hard to read. She was stoic and played the part well. Something that would have been a clear tell in anyone else could go either way with her. She was known to fake a tell to trick her opponents, and it often worked. Playing her was the most Spot had seen Race struggle the whole night.

“Ya know,” he said after losing a close hand, “it’s a shame we ain’t met before.”

“Yeah?” Lucky responded. During poker, she was a lady of few words, but outside of cards no one could get her to shut up.

Race on the other hand was always a loudmouth. “If I’d known there was actually some good poker players in Brooklyn, I’da stayed late more often.”

Hot Shot dealt the next hand. The players took a look at their cards.

“I’s surprised to find out there’s actually good poker players outside of Brooklyn,” Lucky sassed back. “Check.”

“Raise you two.” Race added two pennies to the pot.

Without looking back at her cards, Lucky mirrored him. “Call.”

Race cocked his head. “Check.”

Lucky knocked on the floor, her nonverbal check. She returned two of her cards to Hot Shot, who dealt one card to burn then dealt Lucky two. Race’s eyes did not leave Lucky’s face as she picked up her new cards and added them to her hand.

Race glanced at his own hand then traded out three. His expression didn’t change, but he leaned forward and spoke again. “You ever bet on the races?”

“Only once.” Lucky tossed a couple of coins into the pot. “Won a pretty penny.”

“Hm.” Race absently traced designs on the back of his hand, his cards dangling from his fingers. “Beginner’s luck?” He raised the bet by a few cents.

“I suppose.” Lucky called his bet.

“Or maybe you’re just that good,” Race echoed Spot’s earlier comment as he raised the bet further. Spot could tell he was toying with Lucky but she couldn’t figure out how.

Lucky’s glance darted briefly to Race’s, which was unwavering and almost effortless. She silently called his bet.

“You good at runnin’ numbers?” He tossed another penny onto the pile.

Lucky smirked, a subtle flash that disappeared as soon as it was even noticeable. “What do you think?” She bet another penny.

“What about countin’ cards?” Another penny on the pile.

“We don’t do that here.” Call.

Race hummed as he bet another penny. “Spot counts cards.”

“Hey!” Spot retaliated, indignant. “I do not!”

Lucky raised an eyebrow at her and called Race’s bet.

“If I could count cards, you think I’d let you beat me?”

“I think you let me beat you ‘cause you think I’m just so handsome.” Race gave her a shit-eating grin as he raised his bet. Lucky called.

“You better watch it or you’ll be trekkin’ to the Bay all by your lonesome, Higgins.” Spot shook her head at his audacity. “Spreadin’ lies ‘bout me ain’t gonna win you no friends.”

“No.” He raised, and Lucky called. “But it could help me win a round.”

He turned his sights back on Lucky. The pot was now piled high with coins. Nobody had gone all in, but it was about to be a big payday for someone. Race took another look at his cards, then he shrugged.

“All in.”

Tension filled the air as Race added his last few coins to the pile, including the silver dollar he’d won from Piker. It would wipe Lucky out to call his bet.

All the same, she was considering it. Lucky stared him down, clearly searching for any sign of weakness or uncertainty. Perhaps she found one, as she said, “Call,” and submitted the last of her earnings to the pot.

Lucky laid down her hand. A modest two pair, Kings and Queens. The peanut gallery let out an “ooh.”

Race nodded to himself and pursed his lips. “Nice hand, Lucky.”

But it wasn’t over, Spot thought to herself. She never bet on the races at Sheepshead, but she surely would bet on Race at poker night.

Race sighed. “I gotta say, you’s a tough one. But you oughta make a little eye contact, and not just when you’re bluffing.” He laid down his hand.

Three Jacks. Just barely outranking Lucky’s hand.

The crowd erupted in disbelieving cheers. Lucky gawked at the cards as Race collected his winnings and the crowd began to disperse.

“Damn!” Lucky shook her head. “You got balls, Manhattan. I respect that.” She offered her hand for him to shake.

He took it with a gracious nod. “I meant what I said about you bein’ a good player. You oughta come by the Manhattan lodge sometime. You could give the fellas a run for their money.”

“Damn right I could.” Lucky stood. “We need a rematch sometime, Higgins. Just wait till I figure out what makes you tick.”

Race laughed. “Sometime soon, if we’re lucky.”

Lucky snickered at the joke and headed off to bed, waving to the rest of the crew as she disappeared into her room.

Race turned to Spot.

“Good game,” she congratulated him.

“Here’s your ante back.” He offered her a handful of pennies. Before she could refuse, he said, “I talked you into playing and roped you into that last hand with Lucky, so just take your damn nickel back. It ain’t like I’m makin’ you take half or nothin’.”

He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so Spot pocketed the coins.

“You think I could stay the night?”

It was almost one in the morning, so it was probably for the best if he didn’t have to walk the Bridge so late in the cold and potentially in the snow. Spot nodded. “You can sleep in my bed. Most everyone is doubled up anyway on account of the cold.” She had planned on sharing with Piker that night due to the freezing temperatures, but she was fine to share with Race if he wanted.

“Sure,” he accepted, then offered her another coin. "Penny for your trouble?”

"Don't tempt me.”

She led them down the hall to her room, where Hank was already wrapped up in numerous blankets and snoring like a horse. Myron and Hot Shot were doubled up in one bed, cocooned in the blankets and pillows compiled from both of their bedding.

Spot had begun sleeping with a second blanket in recent months so that Race wouldn’t ever have to borrow from anyone else, which proved a great decision when the cold front moved in. Spot set her hat and boots aside and shrugged her suspenders from her shoulders.

It was cold enough that she left her flannel on as she climbed into bed. Race did the same, claiming a blanket and a corner of the pillow and quickly drifting off. Race’s warmth and the subtle movement of his breathing lulled Spot to sleep soon after, forgetting that only a few hours later they would be awake and back to work.

#newsies #newsies fic #monikers #spot conlon #race higgins #racetrack higgins #fem!spot #fem!spot conlon #genderbend #platonic sprace #hot shot #hot shot newsies #literally just the briefest of mentions in this chapter

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